


Summer Vacation

by RedGrnBlu



Series: Bludhaven: City of Birds [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2020-11-22 19:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 88,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20879162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedGrnBlu/pseuds/RedGrnBlu
Summary: After recovering his memories of being Nightwing, superhero of Bludhaven; and Robin, partner of Batman, Dick Grayson has taken on a student of his own: Hank Duncan; A.K.A. Kite. Dick enlists the Bat-Family to help him show Hank the ropes of being a hero, and meanwhile discovers a series of fires and burglaries that seem to have more sinister intentions behind them beyond simple, petty crime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Bludhaven: City of Birds**

**Book Two: Summer Vacation**

“Easy, there, pal. Nobody’s gotta get hurt as long as you cooperate.” 

Jake Walters swallowed, taking care to hold the eye contact of the man in the ski mask across the counter from him. Long before he was promoted to manager of Haven Credit Union, he was trained on how to handle this situation. 

Jake knew exactly what to do when a gun or knife was drawn on him by someone desperate enough to rob a bank: Cooperate. There were multiple binders full of insurance policies in place to protect the money of investors and customers. 

Whether the robbery took place during the busiest time of the day, or just after the HCU had closed down for the evening, like right now, the credit union’s employees were not to risk their lives in some silly attempt to be a hero.

Whatever money was lost in the event of a robbery could be replaced.  _ “But our people cannot.”  _ The words of the HCU’s founder, George Carter, rang in his ears. George was a good man. He took care to learn the names of every employee of the small Credit Union. 

“What do you want me to do?” Jake asked, raising his hands slowly above his head. 

“You’re going to take us to the vault, open it, and keep real quiet and still while we take the money and leave.” The black-masked man spoke calmly, keeping his firearm trained on Jake. The three other masked men behind the speaking man routinely swiveled around, switching their sights between Jake and the doors and windows of the building.

“Okay.” Jake began walking slowly toward the vault, keeping his hands raised until he arrived at the large metal door. The security system was two-fold, it required an authorized fingerprint scan, and then a six-digit pin code entry. “I’m just going to unlock the vault.” 

Jake maintained an even tone while he pressed his thumb to the small black pad, then slowly entered the pin number. He took a deep breath, reassuring himself that everything would be over soon. A loud  _ hiss _ was heard as the vault door unlocked and began to swing open.

“Jeez, it’s about time. I was running out of things to spy with my little eye in here.” Jake’s eyes widened in disbelief. HCU policy stated that the vault was to hold $300,000 in cash, nothing more at one time, as the rest of the funds that the union managed would be kept off site in a more secure facility. 

Yet, in addition to the $300,000, there were two young men inside the vault. The one that spoke, the darked haired young man clad in black, leaned casually against a stack of sealed bills. The other man, sandy-haired and dressed in brown, was standing straight—but then became a blur of motion.

“ _ Oof! _ ” Jake felt the air in his lungs exit his body forcefully as he hit the ground, tackled by the brown and blonde blur. The pair a few feet across the tile floor, out of the reach of the quartet of masked men.

“Sorry,” Hank Duncan said quickly before springing off the ground and whirling toward the masked thug nearest to him. The two thugs in back were turning slowly toward Hank, still caught off guard by the entrance of he and Nightwing. 

Right on cue, a black blob whistled through the air, connecting with the backside of the thug closest to Hank. 

_ Thunk _ — _ bzzt! _

The impacted thug stumbled forward with a grunt, while a small surge of electricity erupted from Nightwing’s escrima stick, disabling the weapons of the robbers with a small electromagnetic pulse. 

“Guns are down, Kite.” Hank returned his mentor’s smirk, feeling built up tension leave his neck and shoulders. With the guns out of the picture, the bank employee was out of harm’s way. 

“I still can’t believe people really try to rob banks anymore.” Hank called to Nightwing as he charged toward his two thugs, both of the men still clicking their triggers uselessly. “Like, isn’t most ‘money’ just numbers on a phone or computer screen?”

“A bank heist is a classic crime, grasshopper!” Nightwing had already knocked out the lead robber with a kick to the torso and moved onto his next target. He quickly jabbed the second masked man in the face and grabbed hold of his arm, gracefully whirling around and bending it behind his back. “It’s simple, sound logic. You need money? Go to the bank! Just, you know, these guys aren’t making a personal withdrawal.” 

“Hmm. If you say so.” Hank pondered Dick’s words, tuning out the groans from the thug attached to the arm Nightwing was twisting. The sandy haired young man landed two quick blows on abdomen of the thug in front of him, then dropped to the floor as he heard the  _ whoosh _ of air behind him. 

Kite glanced upward as he twisted his body around on the ground, catching the site of one thug being pistol-whipped by another. The whipped thug crumpled to the floor, and the other stumbled as he tripped over Hank’s leg sliding across the tile. 

As Hank’s thug toppled forward, Dick shoved the masked man he was holding into the falling thug’s path. The two collided with a loud  _ CONK _ before dropping woozily to the floor.

Jake Walters stood up slowly and looked between the two young men. The shock from all of the commotion had far from worn off. “I—thank you. So much.”

“No problem, sir.” Nightwing offered a confident smile, striding toward the building’s exit. 

“You might want to call the police,” Hank offered, jogging lightly to reach the side of his mentor. 

“No, it’s okay, Oracle says they’re on their way.” Nightwing clapped his young partner on the back.

“Ah, well, nevertheless.” Hank smiled at the gesture from Dick and glanced back over his shoulder. “Have a nice night!”

* * *

“I’m really not sure this is a good idea, Dick.” Dick spun around in his computer chair and faced his friend—or, whatever she was to him right now—with a raised eyebrow. 

Of all the Bat-family, Barbara Gordon was his most frequent visitor. Partially so they could see each other, but Dick knew her visits were also partially to check up on him.

“You’ll have to be more specific, Babs. You say that about a lot of my ideas.” Dick turned back to the computer screen and tried to find where he’d left off in his reading. 

“Do you mean my idea about my own Batcave built on top of a skyscraper in Bludhaven? The thing about rigging the tables in all the corrupt casinos to put them out of business? Introducing Hank to the family?”

“Look, I know what Bruce did for you, helping you catch Zucco after he murdered  _ your  _ parents.” Dick felt a gentle hand fall onto his shoulder. “But Hank’s parents are a whole different story. I get that you’re trying to give him closure, but—”

Dick turned again, taking Barbara’s hand in his own. “Barbara. You’re right. It started out that way—I mean trying to help Hank find his parents. But the thing is, the more I search, the less I understand.” Dick paused, running a hand through his dark hair. “Something’s off about the whole thing.”

“Do you think there’s something wrong? I mean, could there be something Hank hasn’t told you about?” Barbara’s eyes showed no signs of suspicion, only curiosity and concern. 

“No—I mean, I don’t know.” The former boy wonder shook his head and sighed. “I trust, Hank, of course. The other day he apologized to me for taking a bottle of water without asking. But Babs, you and I were both taught by Batman. We  _ know  _ how to find people.” Nightwing’s brow furrowed. “So I can’t help but feel like someone doesn’t  _ want _ anyone to find Rodger and Mary Duncan.” 

* * *

“You’re off balance. You have to stop leaning onto your back foot so much.” Dick swished the combat knife through the air toward his pupil. Hank quickly backed out of the way, then thrust his own knife forward. 

Dick grabbed Hank’s wrist firmly and twisted, forcing him to drop the knife. Nightwing pressed his blade forcefully against the sandy-haired young man’s neck, watching his deep green eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in annoyance. 

“Dead again.” Hank muttered. 

“Maybe captured and taken hostage, you never know!” Dick smirked as he lightly tapped the side of Hank’s face with the knife.  _ Thunk, thunk.  _ The blades’ edges were dulled for safety, but in the middle of sparring, they felt real enough. “Do you understand what I’m saying, though? If you’re always on your back foot, you won’t be able to switch to offense when you need to.”

“Yeah, I think I’m getting it.” Hank roughly grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. “I’m thankful that I get to fight  _ with  _ you and not  _ against  _ you.” 

Nightwing let out two short laughs. “Man, if I had a nickel. Unfortunately, buddy, you never know. These days, there’s lots of ways to get brainwashed. Telepaths, electroshock conditioning, nanobots, techno organic viruses—we live in a nightmare world.” 

“Good grief.” Hank chuckled with cynicism. 

“Yeah it’s rough. And honestly, sometimes these superhero types don’t even need to be brainwashed to fight each other. They’ve got super-egos—convinced that whatever they’re doing is right, and anyone who disagrees is wrong.” Nightwing grabbed a bottle of water and tossed it toward Hank, who snatched it out of the air. “How are Jan and Scott?”

“They’re great. I love seeing them both so happy. It’s funny that they were so nervous about telling me.” Hank sipped the water, carefully screwing the cap back on. “I guess they didn’t want me to be worried or upset by it, but I had been trying to get them to meet for such a long time. It’s like my dad and mom are finally dating each other.”

Dick and Hank both laughed at the goofiness of the phrase. The former boy wonder’s clear blue eyes met his young partner’s. “Henry, you know if you need a break from any of this, all you have to do is ask.”

“I’m fine, Dick, really. I’m busy, sure, but everything I’m doing makes me feel like I’m really making an impact. It feels really, really good.” Dick felt the corners of his mouth pull his smirk into a full blown smile. For the most part, Henry Duncan had coped fabulously with the difficult hand he was dealt in life. 

To most people, Hank appeared friendly, confident, happy—a bright young man with a lot of potential and on his way to figuring out his life. It was only after Dick asked Hank to be his partner that the former boy wonder had begun to notice the face beneath the mask Hank Duncan wore in front of the general public.

Living a life without parents and losing his younger brother had turned Hank into a permanent older sibling, determined to never display any vulnerability or burden other people by needing their help. Dick realized quickly that part of Hank’s kind smile was almost always tinged with sadness. But every once in a while, Nightwing would see a flash of real, pure, innocent joy in his seventeen-year-old protoge’s face. 

“I’m happy you feel happy, Hank.” Dick reached out and placed a firm hand on Hank’s shoulder. “I’m just saying, sometimes it’s important to have a little time to yourself. Helping people feels great, but being selfish once in a blue moon isn’t really being  _ selfish _ , it’s just being human.”

Hank’s grin toward his mentor was filled with mischief. “I’m being selfish right now. I just tricked you into letting me catch my breath so I can kick your ass this time.” The sandy haired young man picked up his combat knife and strode away from Dick before turning around to motion Nightwing toward him. “Come get some.” 

Richard Grayson threw his head back in a laugh and picked up his own combat knife. “Your trash-talk has improved, young grasshopper. But do not forget whose dojo you are in.” 

* * *

“Good morning, Henry.” As usual, Hank smiled at Jan Granger’s twinkling voice, and the firm hug she wrapped him in. 

“Careful not to behave like this when customers are in the store, Jan.” Hank laughed with the woman who had become the closest thing he had to a mother. He repelled the urge to wince at the hug—normally a hug from Jan could make his whole week, but over the past month, Hank’s body was always sore. 

At six in the morning, he worked out with Nightwing—Dick Grayson, who, up until last month, was just a friendly gym owner who had given Hank a spare key. Then he’d hit the books, soaking up everything he could about chemistry, psychology, philosophy, criminology, or whatever surprise subject of the day Dick sprung on him. 

If he wasn’t hitting the books, he was traveling to Port's Park for a shift at the Union, Jan’s coffee shop/grocery store, or working on developing a community youth mentorship program with his former social worker and technical legal guardian Scott Daniels. 

And that was just the day shift. When the night fell, ‘Kite’ would don his domino mask and body armor to patrol the streets of Bludhaven with Nightwing until the wee hours of the morning. The sleep he got came from whatever naps he could squeeze into his schedule. 

_ Ding-ding! _

The bell attached to the door of the Union rung, signaling the arrival of patrons. Jan turned to Hank with a warm smile. “I have to finish inventory, can you handle our guests?”

Exhausted. Sore. No sign of a break coming anytime soon. But how could Hank not do everything he could to help out someone like Jan Granger. 

“Of course, Jan, anything for you.” Hank rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grabbed a mug off the rack, filling it with the day’s first fresh brew. It was a good thing he worked in a coffee shop. 

* * *

“Well if it isn’t the prince of Port’s Park.” Hank dropped the plate he was washing, barely catching it before it hit the base of the sink. He knew the owner of the voice that startled him, and made sure to keep his composure as he shifted his gaze toward the long wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes of Elizabeth Carter. “You’re not going to drop the plate again, are you Henry?”

Hearing Liz giggle at him caused a few of the knots in Hank’s stomach to untangle. “Hi Liz—I’ll certainly try my best not to.” Even when he hadn’t seen her in a month, and even when the last time he had seen her had been on less than stellar terms, he couldn’t help but smile like an idiot when he looked at Liz Carter. “Can I get anything for you?”

“Hmm… Not yet, let me check the menu for a sec.” There was no sign of the tension Hank felt the last time he and Liz spoke, but he couldn’t help feeling a little on edge. 

Hank and Liz’s close friendship had become a more complicated relationship, which was even further complicated by Hank’s part-time vigilante ambitions. Now that he was doing the mask thing full-time, he couldn’t be sure what came next for he and Liz. 

“Liz!” Jan’s sparkling voice rang through the store as she embraced Liz from behind in a hug. “It’s so good to see you! How is your summer? Are you getting ready for NYU? Please, order whatever you’d like—do not even think about charging her, Henry.”

Hank smiled as Liz let out a light laugh—it was Jan’s nature to pelt people with questions about their lives like this. She cared so much, almost aggressively so. “I have an orientation visit in two weeks, and I’ve been in contact with my roommate, who seems wonderful. She has light brown hair like yours—but not as pretty of course.” 

A warmth spread through Hank’s chest. Since he began working with Dick, he had discovered a new sense of purpose, feeling full of positive energy at all times even when he was physically exhausted. But this moment right here felt  _ normal. _ Jan, Liz, and himself laughing and talking about life. He had missed this.

“Really, the only bad thing about summer is that I haven’t seen Henry at all.” The warmth in Hank’s chest spread to his face. The sweet smile on Liz’s face was incongruent with the mischievous flash of her blue eyes. “But obviously he’s spending his time well if he’s working here, and with how busy the Union has gotten, you must need his help.”

“Oh, please. I’m just about sick of him. He just never stops with the ‘ _ Let me take out the trash for you, Jan’,  _ and ‘ _ I’ll wash dishes again, Jan.’ _ ” Jan winked a green eye at Hank—or was it directed toward Liz? Or both? “How about I give you the day off tomorrow, Henry, and you and Liz can catch up?” 

Liz squeezed Jan’s hand and smiled brightly at Hank. “Oh, that would be perfect, because my dad has two tickets to the Bloodhounds game tomorrow! Thank you so much, Jan!”

Hank blinked twice.  _ What the hell just happened?  _ He shook off his confusion and grinned back at Liz and Jan. “I can’t wait.”

_ Guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. _


	2. Chapter 2

“Knock knock.” Dick Grayson returned the smile of Scott Daniels as he walked into the social worker’s office. 

“Richard, come in, please!” Scott swept a few folders to the side of his desk, standing up to shake Dick’s hand. “To what do I owe the honor?” 

“I’ll give you three guesses.” 

“Did Henry break something in your gym again?” Dick laughed, images of all of the equipment he and Hank had destroyed together over the past month. Dick hadn’t known Scott long, but the glowing recommendation from Hank held a lot of weight in Dicks’ eyes. 

Plus, he had done his own homework. Scott Daniels had graduated from Hudson University with honors a few years before Dick attended school there. While he studied pre-law at Hudson, Scott was an all-american pitcher, known for a devastating left-handed slider. 

One day, Dick would ask Scott what drew him to social work after graduation, when he had a full-ride scholarship to Northwestern’s Law School, not to mention that he had been in talks with numerous minor league teams. But today was not that day.

“Hank hasn’t broken anything recently, no.” Dick chuckled softly. “But I did want to ask you a few questions about him—or more specifically about his parents. Rodger and Mary Duncan.”

“Been looking into them, huh?” Scott exhaled slowly. “When I first took on Hank’s case, I spent two days scrounging through public records for those names. And I only came up with two mentions.”

Dick nodded. “A story about a young couple in Gotham saving three Wayne Industries Factory employees from a fire.” Nightwing placed a folder on Scott’s desk, opening it to reveal two newspaper clippings.

“And their obituaries.” Scott briefly scanned over the contents of the folder before meeting Dick’s eyes. “If you’re worried about Hank seeing this, these articles are old news to him. He and his younger brother attended the funeral when he was eight.”

“Mhmm. A parent should never have to bury their child, and a child shouldn’t have to bury their parents before becoming an adult.” Dick paused for a moment, unsure if he should share what he was thinking with Scott. “Well, Scott. You and I are both Hudson U alumni.”

“Go Tigers.” 

“Go Tigers.” Dick returned Scott’s small smirk. “In college, I studied criminology. Obviously, life lead me down a different path, since now I own a gym. But every once in a while, I get an itch, you know?”

“So, just as a hobby, I’ve been looking into some things. Recently, a series of factory fires all around the country.”

“That’s pretty grim.” Scott frowned.

“You’d think so, but no one has gotten hurt in the fires, and they all have an unknown origin. Plus, each fire has lead to a successful class action lawsuit against the factory owners, and the workers have been well-compensated due to an unsafe work environment.” Dick carefully scanned Scott’s eyes for a reaction.

“You almost make it sound like a good thing.” Scott absentmindedly scratched the stubble on his chin. “If I were part of the class-action, it would be easy to paint this sort of incident as the result of irresponsible industry moguls who need to be taught a lesson about treating laborers correctly.” 

“Exactly.” Dick retrieved another folder from his bag, setting it on Scott’s desk, but not opening it. “Which is just the case that was made about the factory fire that Rodger and Mary Duncan saved three Wayne Industries employees from.”

Scott narrowed his eyes and began to open the folder. Dick continued, “I’m not really sure what I’m getting myself into, here Scott. Personally, I’m not going to mention it to Hank unless I have more concrete evidence, and a clearer understanding of what’s going on.” 

“I obviously can’t stop you from telling Hank, and I would completely understand if you did. I’m sure you know this already, but he thinks of you like a father—you know, like a cool, young father. But anyway, I just thought you might be curious, too, so I thought I’d share this with you.”

Scott decided not to open the folder and shifted his eyes up toward the younger man. “Dick, thank you for letting me know about this.” Dick was beginning to stand up and zip up his bag. “And I don’t think I ever properly thanked you, but Henry told me you were a big part of his decision to take classes at BCC this fall. I really appreciate whatever you said to him.”

Dick gave a genuine smile before heading toward the door. “He’s gonna be just fine, Scott. He’s a smart kid.”

* * *

“I feel like an idiot.” Nightwing frowned at the words of his young partner, lowering the binoculars from his eyes and turning toward Hank.

“Why does going on a date make you an idiot? A  _ free _ date, Ha—Kite.” 

“Well if we look at things practically, I’m seventeen years old. Too young to be going on dates.” Hank furrowed his brow at his mentor’s laughter. “Okay, that’s not what I meant. I meant, you know, I’m a kid. Liz and I are both kids. And neither of us are the ‘marry our high school sweetheart’ type of kid.”

“Do you think anyone who goes on a second date is thinking about whether the date will lead to marriage?” Nightwing had raised the binoculars back up to his eyes, examining the figures that were moving in to the empty lot across the street from the rooftop he and Hank were perched on.

“I’m just saying, there’s no way this relationship goes anywhere. She’s going off to NYU in two months. I’m staying here.” Out of the corner of his eye, Dick caught Hank adjusting his mask. “Also, it isn’t a date.”

Nightwing raised an eyebrow at his sandy-haired companion. “One: it definitely is a date. Two: it’s okay to go on dates. Even if you might not marry the person. Three: it’s time to go.”

Dick tapped his wrist gauntlet to signal the police. Hank nodded and followed Dick’s lead as they both fired their grapple guns through the night air and swung down toward the formerly empty lot. 

Commissioner Colleen Edwards had informed Nightwing of a hostage trade between two mob families of Bludhaven: the Cecil’s and the Keye’s. Since both groups were essentially admitting to kidnapping by setting up the trade, it was a great opportunity to kill two birds with one stone.

Dick landed first, using his swing’s momentum to take out the leader of the Cecil’s with a kick to the head, and briefly glancing over to check on Hank before going to work on the rest of the crew. Kite was handling himself just fine, making good use of the escrima sticks Dick had been training him with. 

_ Whap, crack, bonk! _

“Okay, so I get that it’s okay to go on dates.” Dick smirked as he heard his partner’s voice call out over the grunts and groans of the crumpling thugs. Learning to hold casual conversation while punching out bad guys was a rite of passage for crime fighters. “But the one date we went on got very messed up by me ditching her to do vigilante stuff, and that was back when I was just a part-timer!”

“You’re worried that she’ll figure out who you are?” Dick flung a bola at a man who was trying to run away, mentally patting himself on the back as the projectile wrapped around his legs and tripped him. 

“Not really, I’m just saying the odds are extra against me when it comes to this relationship.”

“It sounds to me like you really like this girl, and you’re worried that exploring what that means could end up with you getting hurt.” Nightwing threw another glance over his shoulder at Hank, who downed a new recruit of the Keye family with a solid left hook. 

“Thanks for your diagnosis, Doctor Nightwing.” Kite hurled an escrima stick toward a thug who was approaching him.  _ Clunk. _ The stick connected, but glanced off the man’s shoulder, evoking a groan from each party. The thug’s groan of pain, and Hank’s groan of annoyance. He still had some work to do with his aim. “You want me to play psychologist with you and Batgirl?”

Hank punctuated the question with a solid kick to the thug’s chest. “What are you talking about?” Dick was caught off guard by his protoge’s remark, nearly being hit by a clumsy punch from the last thug still standing. 

“I’m talking about the Batgirl uniform I had to move off of your couch the other night when I crashed there.” Nightwing spun around to face a smirking Kite after knocking out the thug. 

Dick exhaled an exasperated sigh, gesturing for Kite to follow him as he saw the flashing red and blue lights of the Bludhaven P.D. Just when Hank thought he had left his mentor speechless, Dick flashed him a confident grin. “Maybe you should ask Batgirl about it? You’ll have lots of time tomorrow night during your private lesson.”

Hank’s eyes widened behind his mask. “Private lesson?”

* * *

“So do I have to call you Day-Wing? Afternoon-Wing?” Jason Todd’s words caused the corners of Dick’s mouth to turn up into a half smile.

“You know, for the edgy, rebellious, opposite-of-Dick-Grayson-Robin, you sure do make a lot of the same jokes I do.” Dick shielded his eyes against the sunlight. The Red Hood joked about the strangeness of donning their costumes before the sun had set, but he had a point. This was a little weird. 

“I must be losing my touch. Although, I never really understood that reputation all the way—” Jason was cut off by sirens, indicating it was time to move. The pair silently dropped down from their rooftop perch just as a fire engine rushed out of the garage of Metropolis Fire Station 12. 

Before the garage door could close, the ex-Robins slipped into the empty firehouse. Jason removed his helmet and continued. “People remember your Robin as the Golden Boy, but  _ you _ set the precedent for disobeying Batman.”

“I’m pretty sure people remember me as the handsome Robin.” Nightwing smirked as he held the stairwell door open for his brother. Dick didn’t want to make a habit of taking bullets to the head, but at least his near-death experience, amnesia, and the return of his memory had made the whole Bat-family closer. “By the way, good work figuring this out—Bludhaven has had plenty of problems with crooked cops, but I’d have never suspected a fire department to be corrupt.”

Jason shrugged as he walked briskly up the stairs. “In Metropolis, the big guy takes care of so many fires, Fire Station 12 was going to be shut down. Since there’s been an uptick in fires while Supes is off-planet, I got suspicious. Sure enough, Captain Cross has been meeting up with arsonists.”

The duo reached the door to the Captain’s office, and Red Hood swiftly picked the lock with just a flick of his wrist. The door swung open, and they both began scanning the room. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, since when are you and Superman so close? I didn’t realize he had asked you to watch over Metropolis while he’s away.” Dick searched through a file cabinet but found nothing of interest. 

“Uh, he didn’t. He asked Supergirl.” 

“Uh huh... And you’re here, too.” Nightwing didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at his brother. He could imagine Jason’s narrowed eyes and set jaw just fine. 

“Well, look at that, I think I found something!” Dick chuckled to himself. Leave it to the Red Hood to conveniently find a piece of evidence just as the subject of his personal life comes up. 

Jason held a poker face as he handed a sheet of paper to Dick. “There was a folder full of factory blueprints, all with dates on them. This one’s got today’s date on it.”

“The LexCorp factory in Hell’s Gate.” Dick muttered.

“Not surprising that Luthor’s involved in this somehow.” Jason grabbed the sheet of paper and returned it to its folder.

“Actually, I think he might be a victim, sort of.” Dick handed Jason his red helmet. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

* * *

_ Yep, I’m an idiot. _ Hank caught himself staring at Liz for the fourth time since they’d entered the Bloodhounds’ park. It wasn’t like he disliked baseball, but the sport ran a little slow for his tastes. He’d usually get distracted before he finished watching a whole game.

Today, Henry was extra distracted, but to be fair he was with a person who was, frankly, very distracting. Liz looked beautiful on any day, but on a sunny day like today, with nothing blocking the light for reaching her face aside from the baseball cap she wore on her head, she looked incredible. 

She must have been spending a lot of time in the sun, because a small spray of freckles had developed across the bridge of her nose and under her bright blue eyes. “You’re missing the game, Duncan.”

Hank’s head snapped back toward the field. “Woo! Go Bloodhounds!” He shouted extra enthusiastically. 

“Not that I’m not flattered.” Liz laughed lightly. Her laughter spread to Hank, who turned toward her with a big smile. Before he had time to think about it, his mouth and tongue were moving involuntarily.

“I’m so sorry, Liz.” It wasn’t a planned apology, but as the words blurted from his mouth, he realized he had wanted to say them. “For that night at the dinner theatre, and then when we talked at the street fair—” Henry was cut off by more laughter from Liz.

“You mean when I punched you at the street fair?” Hank felt a hand cover the back of his own. “Hank, you don’t have to apologize. You don’t have to sweat dumb stuff like that with me, right? We’re too close for that.”

_ “Hi, Henry, right? I’m Liz Carter.” Hank shook hands with the blonde young woman, trying not to think too hard about how pretty her smile was or whether or not his palms were sweaty. “Welcome to Bludhaven North.”  _

_ “Nice to meet you. And, uh, thanks. Sorry you had to come into the school before summer vacation is over.” Hank glanced around the empty commons area they stood in. The school year wouldn’t start for another week, but Scott had set up a tour for him with the class president, who was much more attractive than Hank had imagined. _

_ “Don’t worry about it! It’s part of the Presidential gig.” Liz said with a wink, striding forward toward the exit doors of the building. “I try to keep as busy as possible, anyway. Volleyball, Student Council, Photography Club… The less time I have to think, the better.” _

_ “Right. That’s smart. Thinking sucks.” Hank followed, curious about the tour route Liz seemed to be leading him on. “Uh, by the way _ —”

_ “I know I’m supposed to take you on a tour of all your classes, but honestly, that’s a waste of time.” Liz pushed the exit doors open, revealing sunlight and the warm summer air. The pair stepped out onto a manicured lawn with criss-crossing sidewalks.  _

_ “The school’s layout is easy.” Liz continued. “Science and math classes are in that building, english and social sciences are over there, the building we just left has administrative offices, the cafeteria, and all of the athletic facilities. And then every other class outside of a core curriculum is in that building right there.”  _

_ “Huh. Easy enough.” Hank appreciated the efficiency. “Well, uh, thanks for the tour.” _

_ “Hmm. You know, a friend of mine joked about you being a drug dealer since you’re from Gotham, but you’re way too polite for that.” Hank’s eyes widened for just a moment, but a glance at Liz’s face told him she was teasing. _

_ “What, I’m not cool enough to sell drugs?” _

_ “I’ll be honest, I don’t think there are any drug dealers out there named Henry. Come on.” Hank found himself following Liz’s confident stride again, the pair headed down a street decorated on both sides with tall buildings and colorful signs. _

_ “Well, some people call me Hank. So there.” Hank quickened his pace to walk in step with Liz, who threw her head back in a laugh. _

_ “Is that what your friends call you?” Liz’s bright blue eyes flashed. Hank found himself intimidated and welcomed by them at the same time. _

_ “Not cool enough to have friends, sadly.” Hank put his hands in his pockets and gave his head an exaggerated shake. “Uh, where are we going, by the way?” _

_ “It’s my job to make you feel welcome to Bludhaven, Hank.” Liz gestured to the buildings surrounding them. “So let’s go make you some friends.” _

Hank blinked himself back into the present. “Yes, definitely too close for that, Liz.” His smile returned, and he suddenly felt less strange about looking into Liz’s bright blue eyes. 

His first friend in Bludhaven. When Hank was with Elizabeth Carter, he didn’t have time to think. There was no time for his several years worth of trauma and baggage—with Liz, he could just feel like a normal person. 

Hank decided to make use of his ability to avoid thinking while he was with Liz, reaching over to her to adjust the brim of her navy blue Bloodhounds cap. “Your eyes are very blue, just F.Y.I. Has anyone ever told you that?” 

“It’s hard to think of a guy who hasn’t told me that,” Liz replied, laughing under her breath. 

“Okay, but you punched me  _ and  _ slapped me, so just give me this, okay?” Out of the corner of his eye, Hank noticed an elderly couple pecking each other on the stadium’s jumbotron—the “kiss cam”.

“No, we agreed we were too close for that stuff to matter.” Liz readjusted the cap, her eyes flashing. A camera woman was scanning the section of seats where Liz and Hank sat, no doubt looking for a shot to display on the jumbotron.

“Oh, right. I suppose we must be awfully close, since you kissed me.” Hank felt his lips quirk into a smile, and nodded toward the giant screen. 

“Oh, that wasn’t a kiss.” A mischievous smirk had formed on the young woman’s face. “I had to calm you down so you would stop stammering like an idiot.” 

“Hmm. Felt an awful lot like a kiss.” The camera swung toward their row. 

“If I ever kiss you, Hank, you’ll know.” Hank glanced over at Liz’s eyes, which were fixed on the large screen. Hank turned his attention toward the jumbotron, which displayed a pair of young, professionally dressed women. One of them knelt down and opened a box containing a ring, and the two embraced.

Hank looked down their row to see the proposal in real time, only six seats away from them, then flashed a grin at Liz. “I guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.”


	3. Chapter 3

Nightwing glanced at the time on his mask’s HUD.  _ 8:50 pm _ . The blueprint that Red Hood found in Captain Cross’s office had been labeled today’s date, July 10, 9:03 pm. Being that they were raised by the world’s greatest detective, Dick and Jason could only assume that the LexCorp factory before their eyes would catch fire in a matter of minutes.

“Time to go, ‘Wing.” Dick nodded to his brother, following Jason as he silently moved out of the shadows and toward the side of the factory building. The pair made climbing the building look like a rehearsed acrobatics routine, taking turns boosting and swinging each other as they scaled the factory. 

Upon reaching the roof, Jason picked the lock to a ventilation hatch, and Dick took point, dropping down into the shadowy building. As Red Hood joined him on the catwalk high above the factory floor, Nightwing scanned their surroundings. 

The only source of light were the dim safety lights spaced evenly around the factory floor. For a pair of young men who had spent much of their lives in darkness, it was plenty bright. 

“HUD readout doesn’t show any activity,” Jason quietly stated. “I know this factory produces circuit boards for military tech, but if we find any kryptonite or anything, I call dibs.” 

Nightwing restrained his chuckle to a small smile. “It’s all yours, buddy. Okay, let’s sweep the place systematically. Top-down, you take the east side, I’ll take the west, and we’ll meet in the middle.”

Dick caught a small nod from his brother’s red helmet, and the two went to work. Dick began his search at the wall of the factory, meticulously examining each piece of machinery and the area around it. The clock in his mask’s display read  _ 9:02 pm. _ He tapped the side of his mask, switching between its filters to scan for heat signatures, radiation, and chemical irregularity.

_ Nothing. _ Nightwing frowned as he approached his brother. “It’s 9:04 pm. Do you think we read the blueprint wrong?” Red Hood questioned as he knelt down to adjust his boot. 

“I don’t know. It could be a number of things. I figured there would be some sort of explosive set to go off at that time, but maybe people were coming to actually start the fire themselves? They could have seen us and called it off.” Dick pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled a sigh. 

He had gotten ahead of himself, thinking that tonight would answer some of his questions about Henry’s parents. “I should have focused on one thing at a time. Okay, maybe we go back to the fi—”

Dick cut himself off as he and Jason each tensed up due to the creaking sound they heard beneath them. 

“Got a feeling that’s not just a faulty air conditioner,” Red Hood muttered. Before Dick could respond, large explosion erupted behind him, knocking him off balance and evoking a ringing in his ears. 

Lights began flashing, and the loud whir of a fire alarm filled the air of the factory. A pillar of flame had sprung where the explosion had taken place, hungry fire pulling itself toward the factory equipment. Nightwing and Red Hood were already on the move.

Dick reached toward his belt to retrieve his fire suppressant capsules, but a strong arm yanked him backward. “No time, Nightwing!” The former boy wonder grimaced at Jason’s words, knowing his brother was correct. Dick sprinted after Jason, who quickly pulled a gun from the inside of his jacket, firing two shots at the handles of the double doors in front of them.

With the locks blasted away, the pair of ex-robins stormed through the doors before whirling around to force them shut again, trying to prevent a backdraft from feeding the fire. 

_ How did we miss this?  _ Dick asked himself as he took a moment to catch his breath. His mind conjured an image of the blueprint they found at the fire station. They had accounted for every entrance to the building. 

“Nightwing, look.” Dick followed Jason’s pointed finger to a large metal grate in the cement below them. Though they were almost imperceptible, the display in Dick’s mask revealed small embers and smoke particles rising from the grate. “There’s an abandoned subway tunnel below the factory. They must have set armed the explosive there.” 

Dick nodded, placing his hand against the grate and tapping a finger to his wrist. His glove sent a series of ultralow frequency vibrations into the ground below. Dick’s idea for the tech was based on echolocation, and though it was far from perfected, Bruce had been impressed enough to develop a prototype for him. 

“There’s someone moving fast down there. Maybe on a motorcycle.” Dick quickly pressed another button on his gauntlet, glancing over to see Jason doing the same. Two sleek motorcycles piloted themselves toward the brothers, one back and blue, the other black and red.

“The tunnel exits onto the main road at 50th Street and Parker.” Dick could hear the smile in Jason’s voice. The Red Hood loved a good chase scene. “I’ll go low, you go high.”

Dick nodded as the pair straddled their individual bikes. Red Hood threw a small capsule at the metal grate, releasing an acid which quickly devoured a hole large enough for his bike. With a rev of their engines, Dick shot toward the city streets, and Jason plummeted down into the tunnel. 

It wasn’t long before Jason caught sight of a dark figure racing ahead of him in the tunnel. Whatever motorcycle the arsonist was riding, it wasn’t built by Batman, nor was it tricked out by the Red Hood. 

The ex-robin sped up to match the pace of the motorcyclist. Riding side-by-side allowed Jason to get a better look at the fleeing criminal. A dark helmet obscured any facial features, but Red Hod could tell by the smaller frame that the biker was a woman. 

“Hey. Good on you for wearing a helmet.” Red Hood called out to the woman. “Safety first, and all that, you know, when you’re blowing up factories.” 

  
Jason pumped his breaks to avoid being side-swiped, and once again found himself behind the fleeing woman. “Okay. Be like that, then.” Jason’s eyes narrowed as the pair of motorists approached a multicolored lights of Metropolis just outside the end of the tunnel. 

He drew his second pistol from the holster in his jacket, firing a round of rubber bullets at the woman’s tires. Though she was a skilled rider, the bike quickly swerved out of her control, falling onto the ground on its side. 

The bike and its owner skidded across the ground and into the light, slowing to a stop just before coming into contact with a black and blue clad figure. Before the woman could free herself from under the bike, an escrima stick was inches from her chest, crackling with electricity. 

“I got her!” Jason called to Nightwing as he arrived at a more controlled stop. Dick couldn’t help but laugh at his brother’s enthusiasm. 

* * *

Hank sat up on the couch and rubbed his eyes, hoping to rehydrate them after staring at his laptop screen for the past three hours. Liz had invited him to have dinner at her family’s brownstone, but as soon as the game ended, a text message appeared on his phone’s screen.

_ “Emailed you some reading material. Be sure to go over it before ‘class’ tonight. Should take a few hours.  _ — _ BG” _

Dick told Hank to keep his eyes open for a message from Batgirl, but the text still took him by surprise. He wasn’t sure exactly what kind of message was expecting. Would a messenger bat deliver him a scroll? Would he have to decipher some code or squirt lemon juice on invisible ink? Maybe a message written in the sky on a spotlight? 

Nope. Just a text message. A text message which required him to turn down what was sure to be a lovely home cooked meal by Liz’s father George, and instead head back to Dick’s loft in the back of Grayson’s gym. On the upside, he got to use the laptop Dick had gifted him for the first time.

Hank gulped down the rest of his water and looked back at his ‘homework’. Psychological profiles on several members of the Vonn family, phone records, expense reports from the many businesses that Lane Vonn, the head of the family had a stake in, and a handful of case files from various criminal trials involving the Vonn family.

“Hello?” He was so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed the backdoor of the loft opening, and a young redheaded woman poking her head through the doorway. 

“Uh, hi?” Hank quickly closed his laptop and rose from the couch. 

“Ah, you must be Kite.”  _ What?! _ Hank felt his eyebrows rise at alarming speed, but before he could start his first well-crafted lie, the woman laughed and spoke again. “Sorry, haha, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Batgirl. Barbara Gordon.”

Hank exhaled a long breath to try and rid his system of adrenaline, then cleared his throat to approach Barbara. “Wow. Uh, well, I’m Henry Duncan. Or, Kite. But I guess since you already knew that, you can call me Hank.”

Barbara chuckled again, her green eyes twinkling with humor as she gave him a firm handshake. “Really, sorry, it  _ mostly _ wasn’t on purpose. Hmm. Blonde hair and green eyes on a Robin? This is certainly breaking from tradition. I like it.”

Hank raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure how to respond to the comments on his appearance, nor to being called ‘a Robin’. 

“Sorry, I know you’re not ‘a Robin’.” Barbara seemed to read his mind. “That’s, like, another inside joke. Dick speaks highly of you. He said you’re a quick study, which is why I didn’t feel bad about sending you all that info kind of late notice.” 

Hank was beginning to think he might just keep his eyebrows permanently raised for the rest of the night. “Really? That’s… nice of him. He’s been a great teacher, so far.” 

Barbara’s head tilted back in a laugh. “He’s good, for sure. But trust me, I know he can be a lot.” Hank returned the grin of Batgirl, starting to feel more at ease. “I’ve put a lot of forethought into our… class, for tonight. I know Dick doesn’t always do very much  _ forethought. _ ” 

A chuckle arose from Hank’s throat at the teasing of his mentor. “Well, I just completed the assigned reading, so I’m ready.”

“Great! Get your school uniform on. Class starts in 10 minutes on the roof.” 

* * *

Hank had already learned a lot from Batgirl. As he followed her across Bludhaven’s rooftops, he noticed she moved differently than Nightwing. She moved more efficiently, conserving her energy by choosing optimal paths and using her grapple more often, swinging rather than running and leaping. 

“Nightwing described you as more talkative than this.” Batgirl’s words caused Hank to flash a sheepish smile. He had quickly become more comfortable with Barbara Gordon after an unusual first impression, but seeing her as Batgirl had caused him to feel shyness again.

“I, uhh, didn’t know if talking was allowed during class.” He smiled at Batgirl’s laughter as they both swung over a traffic-filled Stark Avenue. 

“Talking is allowed starting now. You’ll have to talk if you’re going to tell me our plan.” The pair landed gracefully on the neon-lit roof of the Spitfire Casino. 

“What?” Hank’s eyes widened behind his mask. 

“The plan, Kite. Where are we going?” Batgirl had stopped running and looked expectantly at Hank. He took a breath and tried to picture the reading he had done earlier in the evening.

“Ok. Well, according to the texts in the phone records, the Vonn family is trying to make some sort of purchase tonight at midnight. Franky Vonn is representing them, trading a hostage for… something.”

Hank slowly talked himself through the data he had consumed, feeling more confident as he recalled more information. “Two weeks ago, the family purchased the top floor of the Archer Storage Warehouse, which I think would make a pretty good spot for the deal to go down.”

Batgirl’s mouth turned upward into a smirk. “Not bad, Detective Kite.”

Hank took the lead as they clambered and swung for three more blocks before arriving on the rooftop of the warehouse. Batgirl picked the lock of the small skylight and held it open for Hank as he silently dropped down.

Barbara signaled Hank to move on top of a stack of storage containers, providing a bird’s-eye-view of the warehouse floor. 

“The trade should start in five minutes.” Batgirl’s voice was a whisper. She pointed across the large room to three men standing about ten feet away from an elevator door. Each man wore a three-piece suit, blue, gray, and navy pinstripe. 

Hank recognized the one in the pinstripe suited man in the middle as Franklin “Franky” Vonn. There was a blindfolded young woman standing next behind the suits with her hands tied behind her back.  _ The hostage. _

“Before, walk me through what we know about Franky Vonn.”

Hank took a breath, giving himself time to recall. “Franklin Vonn. Six-foot-one, and 185 pounds. He won the New Jersey State Wrestling Title twice in high school. He’s 27, 28 in a month. He just recently stepped into a role as third in command of the family. He took the job from his older brother Ed, who was recently checked into a rehab facility in Gotham due to a cocaine problem.” 

“Good. What does all that tell us about the deal tonight?” 

“Uh… Franky is inexperienced. Up until two weeks ago, he took orders from his father, and wasn’t a decision-maker like he is now. Which is probably why he brought along extra help for this trade, even though they can guarantee that the seller will be alone since they own the warehouse.” Hank glanced toward Barbara for a response.

“Close,” Batgirl nodded, “Franky being new to the job means he has something to  _ prove.  _ He wants to show the Vonn family that he’s capable as a leader. Look at his body language. He’s checked his watch twice in the past minute, and he’s tapping his foot.” 

“He’s nervous.” Hank raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Even though he has all the power in this deal. He has the hostage, home field advantage in the warehouse, and he has plenty of backup. So why the anxiety?”

“ _ Now _ you’re asking the right questions, Detective.” Batgirl shot Hank a grin, filling him with a feeling of reassurance. “He’s nervous because he’s going to try to have his cake and eat it, too. My gut says his plan is to acquire whatever it is that he’s buying, but continue to keep the hostage.”

A soft  _ ding _ was heard as the elevator doors split open to reveal two more hefty, overdressed men, and a smaller gentleman with a head full of bright white hair. The white-haired man walked with a cane in one hand, and a small black briefcase in the other.

“What’s the plan?” Hank whispered quickly. “We beat them up and call the police?”

Batgirl gave a quiet laugh. “Close, again, Kite.  _ First _ , we figure out what Vonn is so keen to get his hands on,  _ then  _ we beat these guys up and alert Bludhaven’s finest to the location of a kidnapping victim.”

Hank nodded as Barbara continued. “That’s the main lesson tonight. Nightwing is a big improvisor, so I wanted to teach you about the importance of doing your homework before jumping in. Being prepared never hurts, and if you really want to make the world a better place by punching and kicking people, you’d better make sure you know the right people to punch, and why they need punching.” 

Hank began to think carefully about his substitute teacher’s words, but his thoughts were interrupted by a swift hand gesture from Batgirl, signaling him to pay attention to the goings on below them.

“I need to know if she’s okay, before I show you the necklace.” The elderly man’s voice was soft, but full of firm confidence. Franky laughed loudly, and Hank frowned.  _ Even this guy’s laugh is greasy.  _

“I ought to remind you that you ain’t in charge here, Anton.” Franky looked down at the smaller man in front of him. “But I’m a forgiving guy, so I’ll let that slide. I’ll even meet your demands, since I’m feeling so generous. Eric—ungag her.”

The blue suited man, Eric, roughly removed the gag from the woman’s mouth. The woman’s voice was scratchy, but confident like the elderly man’s. “I’m okay, Grandpa.” 

“Oh thank god. You’re coming home tonight, Jenny.” Anton began to slowly open the briefcase, revealing an elegant silver necklace, detailed with clear blue sapphires. Franky quickly snatched the case from Anton, giving it a thorough examination.

He carefully lifted the necklace from the case, observing it in the light of the warehouse. “You know, Anton, this necklace belonged to my great-grandmother. She passed it down to her son, Franklin, my grandfather, the man I’m named after, to give to a woman he loved...

Franklin met a woman, Scarlet, and right when he met her, he knew: the necklace was for her. He gave her the necklace, and she wore it on their wedding day. The same day that she left him at the altar, running away with another man. A man named Anton.”

Franky chuckled darkly to himself. “Well, listen to me, yapping on like a yutz. You already know the story, don’t you, Anton?”

“The necklace is yours, Franky. Please release Jenny and we’re done here.” Anton’s voice still held its confidence, Hank heard a small shake in it. 

“Hmm. You know I’ve seen a few pictures of Grandpa Frank and Scarlet, and I gotta say, Jenny here is the spitting image of her grandmother.” Franky held the necklace tightly in one hand, reaching into his pinstriped jacket with the other. “But anyway, you’re right, Anton. We  _ are  _ done here.”

Franky drew a handgun from his jacket and pointed it toward the older man, and Hank was moving before he even heard Batgirl signal him with a ‘ _ Move!’ _

The wingding slashed through the air and clattered against Franky’s wrist, causing him to grunt in pain and surprise, and drop the gun on the floor. Kite smirked with pride at his successful throw of the wingding, landing behind Franky and kicking the back of his knee to cause him to double over.

Hank caught Franky in a headlock as the man stumbled. Out of the corner of his eye, Hank saw Batgirl, a blur of purple, black and yellow, spinning, leaping, kicking, and no doubt making the pack of large, overdressed men feel very emasculated. 

“Sorry fellas—well, actually—now that I think about it, I’m not sorry.” Barbara had learned long ago that being a superhero was not a game, but she couldn’t help talking smack on dumb mobsters. She knocked the blue suit, Eric, out with a hard kick to his chest, then whirled around to drive her elbow into the ribs of the gray suit. 

Hank fended off a man in a black suit by kicking out hard with one leg, but realized his mistake immediately, as he lost his hold on Franky.  _ Duh. State champion wrestler. Use your head, Duncan.  _

Hank didn’t have time to beat himself up, as he suddenly found himself pinned to the ground by a very angry Franky. “Who the hell are you people?” The larger man growled as he forced his forearm into Hank’s windpipe.

“I’m… a tailor…” Hank grunted, struggling to keep the weight off his throat. “Your suit… terrible.”

Hank felt himself running out of oxygen. He was vaguely aware of the scene around him, but it was fuzzy. He heard sounds of carbon-fiber-reinforced gloves and boots connecting with bones.

Kite glared into the brown eyes of his large assailant feeling very miffed that this mook was going to knock him out. He glimpsed a shadow as it dropped from above onto Franky’s back with a soft thud. Hank was able to breathe again, as Franky rolled off of him, pinstriped arms reaching for his own throat. 

Hank rolled himself over, coughing, and saw a lithe figure cloaked in a dark brown and green tunic snatch the silver necklace from the ground next to Franky. The necklace disappeared into the figure’s cloak, and the shadow soundlessly dashed away, climbing up the pile of shipping containers that Batgirl and Kite had been perched on previously. 

“Kite!” Hank pushed himself off the ground and whirled to face Batgirl, who was continuing to beat on the two grunts that were still conscious. 

  
“The necklace!” Hank coughed out, still a bit woozy from lack of oxygen.

“You’re fast, right? Go. I’m fine.” Barbara threw an encouraging smirk Hank’s way as she crumpled the black suit with a lightning-fast punch to his stomach. 

Hank stopped thinking and began to run. Nothing to think about except for catching up. He bounded up the shipping containers and saw the silhouette of the thief exit the warehouse through the skylight. 

Hank used his grapple to close the distance, as he emerged onto the roof, the thief glanced back at him before leaping over the edge of the building. 

“No!” Hank sprinted to the urban precipice, exhaling a sigh of relief when he saw them sliding down a zipline that was attached to the side of the building.  _ No, not ‘them’. Her. _ In the neon lighting of the city, Hank realized that the slender figure was a woman. 

She looked like she had gotten her outfit at a renaissance fair, her body covered in a lightweight brown leather tunic, her head covered by a dark green hood. Hank shook his head.  _ Less fashion-judgement, more thief-catching. _

Kite brandished an escrima stick and slipped it over the top of the zipline, gripping it tightly with both hands as he leapt from the warehouse roof and slid down the line. He couldn’t help but smirk as he flew down the zipline. No one said he couldn’t have a little fun during class.

The woman reached the end of the zipline, releasing the hook she’d been holding onto and landing gently on the roof of a small office complex before breaking into a sprint again. Hank attempted to imitate her landing, but came down a bit harder than he expected.

The brown and blue clad vigilante grunted as tucked his body tightly and rolled along the rooftop. He did his best to fluidy push himself up out of the roll and begin his run again. The thief he chased was quick, but Hank was closing the distance, mentally thanking the city planner responsible for placing the buildings he traversed over so close together.

The young woman took a hard right turn after landing on the roof of the Phillips Convention Center, dashing along the top of the skyway that connected to the Cambridge Hotel across the street. Hank saw his chance, recalling the way Batgirl moved through the night air, and fired his grapple across the street, using the throttle to pull himself toward the Hotel roof.

“Hey Game of Thrones!” Hank called as he swung around the corner of the building and landed in the thief’s path. “Not sure if you heard back in the warehouse, but that necklace belongs to some grandma. And you don’t really look like a grandma.” 

Thanks to the hood and the mask covering the bottom of her face, the only expression Hank could see as a reaction to his banter was a narrowing of the thief’s eyes. Hank took a mental note of the small black pouch attached to the thief’s hip.

Kite hurled a wingding at the young woman and sprinted toward her. The thief evaded the projectile with a graceful handspring—but Hank had only thrown it as a distraction as he approached her. “Wow, have you considered doing gymnastics or something instead of kleptomania?” 

Hank extended his arm to strike the thief’s thigh with his palm, but she deflected it with her forearm, twisting her body to roll over Hank’s back and land on the other side of him.

The young vigilante’s eyes widened as two quick jabs to the torso knocked him off balance. As he fell, he scissored his legs around the woman’s calf, taking her down with him. The thief fell on top of him, and in the moment they were face to face Hank glimpsed a fierce pair of pale gray eyes, shining like the silver of the necklace that she had taken.

“Hey there.” Hank smirked at the young woman, whose silvery eyes flashed as she pushed herself up off his chest. “Don’t take this personally, or anything. I’m Kite. It’s my job to, you know, not let people steal stuff.” 

“You’re funny.” The woman’s voice was only slightly muffled by her facemask. Hank started to sit up, maintaining his smirk.

“Thanks. Hey, I think we should tell people we met on a dating app, like instead of wearing masks on the roof of a hotel.” 

Just as she began to back away, she stopped and her eyes widened, her hand shooting to her hip. Hank pushed himself off the ground, flashing a wider smile as he raised the small black pouch in the air with his left hand. The thief’s eyes narrowed again. “And you’re annoying.”

She dashed toward him, but Hank felt more comfortable on the defensive in this situation. He didn’t have to worry about her running away as long as he kept the necklace away from her. “Annoying but kind of charming, right? Oh come on, don’t be like this. You haven’t even told me your name!”

He sidestepped a jab and blocked a right hook, then countered with a strike toward the thief’s collarbone.

His palm connected as she was beginning to launch a kick toward him, causing Hank’s strike to hit higher than he planned, on the woman’s chin rather than her collarbone. The thief recoiled, and Hank froze. 

The strike had knocked both her hood and her facemask off, revealing long light brown hair tucked into a low ponytail, and a face Hank hadn’t seen since he was thirteen years old.  _ Aubrey?  _

Hank’s mind was swimming as the young woman rubbed her mouth, revealed to be curled into a smirk as her hand pulled away. Hank distractedly struck at her as she charged him, but she caught him by his wrist and flipped over his back once more, sweeping his legs out from under him this time. 

Hank blinked, and was staring up into silver eyes again. “Annoying,” she said triumphantly. Hank’s brain still refused to connect to the rest of his body. The girl smelled like cinnamon. “But also cute.” 

  
Soft lips pressed against Hank’s, which did  _ not _ help his brain-body-coordination. He felt a hand cradle the back of his head, twisting his hair around slightly. A gentle pinch of his bottom lip between her teeth, and then a less gentle pinch in the side of his neck. 

The pain snapped Hank out of his daze. “Hey!” He managed to grunt the word out, and tried to sit up, but his brain felt even slower than before. A blurry image of the young woman rising to her feet and putting her hood back on was the last thing he saw before blackness. 


	4. Chapter 4

“The tests came back. He’s fine, just knocked out. Probably will be until tomorrow, if it was the same stuff that Franky Vonn got.” Nightwing breathed a sigh of relief. Hank was okay, despite Barbara finding him unconscious on a rooftop half an hour ago. “He’ll probably beat himself up for losing the thief, but we stopped an old man from being murdered in front of his granddaughter, so at least we have that. How did things go in Metropolis?”

“Pretty much perfectly. Jay and I caught the little arsonist, and the residue left on her gloves and clothes directly connects her to the factory fire. Jason’s… uh... talking to her now.”

“Do you need to go be the good cop?” Batgirl’s voice had a hint of urgency. 

“In a sec, yeah. How’d Hank do? What did you think?” Dick glanced over his shoulder, getting a look at the scene of Red Hood standing with his arms crossed next to the arsonist, who was hanging upside down from a girder. 

“Kite’s still got a lot of learning to do, but you’re right. He’s got a lot of potential. He reminds me of you, but not as boneheaded.” Dick heard the smile in Barbara’s voice over the commlink. 

“You just haven’t been around him enough.” A smirk had appeared on Nightwing’s face. “Okay, gotta go make sure Jason doesn’t traumatize this person.”

Dick ended the call and jogged toward Jason, overhearing part of his conversation with their new friend. “All I’m saying is, we don’t know how far along the workers are on this building. These girders could go at any minute. I certainly don’t feel safe up here, I don’t know about you—”

“Hood! That’s enough, let her down, man.” Dick shook his head as he approached the scene. They had taken the woman to a construction site in Lafayette, one of the lower-income neighborhoods of the city. 

The Red Hood shook his head as he pulled the bound woman up and cut her free from the girder, setting her down on the less precarious scaffolding platform with Dick. “I wasn’t going to do anything to her. And even if she fell, Supergirl would catch her, you know, probably.”   
  


“I’m sure you’d like that.” Dick smirked—he didn’t have Supergirl’s X-Ray vision, but he felt his brother’s scowl behind his red helmet. Nightwing crouched down to face the young woman, who glared at him behind brown eyes. “There’s some pretty hard evidence that connect you to the fire. You’re probably looking at 10 to 20 years in prison.” 

“How much jail time are you two vigilantes looking at?” The woman spat the words at Dick, who frowned. 

“Man, of course she talks to you. They always talk to you. Maybe I should get rid of the helmet?” Nightwing rolled his eyes at Jason’s musings. 

“Focus, Hood. Ma’am, why have you been burning factories down across the country? That’s a lot of work for a cheap thrill. What if someone got hurt?”

“This is the first time I’ve done this.” The woman’s hard expression had softened, her brown eyes shimmering slightly. “I—I didn’t have anything to do with those other factories.”

“The chemical makeup of whatever you used to start this fire matches three other factory burnings that occurred earlier this month.” Jason folded his arms again. “That’s just a coincidence, though, huh?”

“I just—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you two would be there. I was told it would be empty.” The woman’s voice shook. 

“Hey, it’s okay. I mean arson is not okay, but no one was hurt.” Nightwing reached down and cut the line that bound the woman’s hands. “Who told you that?”

“It was the fire captain—Cross. He said this would actually help the fire department. And this woman, she was there, too. They gave me money, and this explosive. Told me exactly where to plant it in the subway tunnel under the factory.” The woman rubbed her wrists, glancing up at Nightwing. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, but my nephew is very sick, and my brother, he actually worked at the factory. The woman said that she could help him sue LexCorp and get the money for his son’s treatment.” 

“Jesus.” Red Hood shook his head. Jason’s persona made him a good ‘bad cop’, but he was still a caring man underneath his helmet. “We’ll make sure the kid gets treated. Trust me, even though you don’t really have any reason to.”

“Listen, obviously, burning down factories is bad. But like you said, we’re vigilantes, so we’re used to legal gray areas.” Dick glanced carefully over to his brother. “And on top of all that, I don’t particularly care for LexCorp. So, maybe we’ll forget about the chemical residue, and take you home instead of to the police station… If you can get us a meeting with that woman who gave you the explosive and money.”

“I can do that.” The woman nodded quickly in gratitude.

“Hope you know what you’re doing, Nightwing.” Dick felt Jason’s narrowed eyes on him.  _ I hope so, too, Jay. _

* * *

**Then.**

Hank frowned as he stirred his oatmeal. It was the only bearable breakfast food option in the cupboard of the ‘Unity Home for Boys and Girls’ in Gotham. He tried not to complain, but after being forced to wake up at six in the morning on a Saturday, he was grumpy.

“So, when are you moving in with your new family?” Hank’s eyes lit up as he moved them from his oatmeal bowl to meet the silver ones across the table. Aubrey Barrow and her brother Jared were also longtime tenants of Unity. 

Hank and Aubrey were the same age, and Jared was one year older than Hank’s brother Tanner. Because both pairs of siblings refused to be separated, it made it much less likely for them to be adopted by the families that visited the center, so the four became fast friends.

“Actually, Tanner and I were double-adopted today.” Hank grinned at his closest friend. “Two different couples loved us so much that they both agreed to adopt us. It’s no big deal or anything. What about you?”

“Oh, that couple didn’t adopt me—they were here to tell Jared and I that we were royalty.” Aubrey fished a spoon out of a small drawer and scooped some of Hank’s oatmeal into her mouth. “They’re packing our things as we speak. We’ll fly to some small island in an hour and I will be crowned a princess.”

“Princess Aubrey Barrow. That’s cool. Do you think they’ll have oatmeal in your castle?” Aubrey’s giggle widened Hank’s smile. 

“So guess what we’re doing today.” Aubrey’s eyes flashed with mischief. 

“What are we doing today?”

“Remember that bag of candy we hauled in when we snuck out on Halloween?” Hank nodded. “I figured out where Margaret is keeping it.”

Aubrey swiped another spoonful of oatmeal from Hank’s bowl. Margaret Clark, the woman who ran Unity, was a kind, but strict woman. She had a zero-tolerance-policy on sweets in the foster home, wanting to make sure the children in her stayed in good health and didn’t develop poor dieting habits. 

“You’re kidding.” Hank’s eyes widened at the thought. Somehow, a month ago, Margaret had found the pillowcase of candy that he and Aubrey hid in the ceiling. “We’re going to steal the candy back?”

“No, Henry, of course not.” The young man’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “You, me, Jared, and Tanner are going to the park. Where we’ll enjoy the candy that I already stole back.” As she spoke, her silver eyes sparkled, and Hank’s confused expression morphed into a smirk.

“Princess Aubrey Barrow. Master thief.”

* * *

**Now.**

“You know, Hank, you’re generally supposed to  _ eat _ the oatmeal, instead of just staring at it.” Scott Daniels’ voice brought Hank back to reality. He smiled sheepishly as Jan laughed. 

“This is nice, you know. The three of us just hanging out. I’m glad you two have stopped being so weird around me.” The brunch had been Jan’s idea, of course. She had adjusted the Union’s business hours so that the trio could have the shop all to themselves on Sunday mornings. 

“It  _ is  _ nice. I hope we can continue doing this when you start school again in the fall.” Despite his life seeming to be stuck in fast-forward the past few days, seeing Jan Granger’s smile could always help him slow down and relax. “We’re both so,  _ so _ proud of you for earning that scholarship, Henry.”

“I think you’re going to enjoy BCC a lot, Hank. And I think you’re smart to start out slow, taking classes part-time at first.” Scott took a bite of scrambled eggs before continuing. “How was the game, by the way? How’s Liz?”

“It was fun—I paid attention for like 5 whole innings. And Liz is...” Hank’s face portrayed a puzzled expression. He shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Distracting?” Jan’s green eyes flashed with humor. “I’m sure it was tough to pay attention—she is awfully cute.” 

“She… She is.” Hank laughed. “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on there, to be honest. But it was nice to see her again, for sure.”

“Relationships are complicated. It’s okay not to understand them completely. Really, everyone’s just making it up as they go.” Scott spoke slowly, and Hank raised an eyebrow. He caught a nervous look in Jan’s eyes as she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

“What’s going on? You’re being weird again.” These two were the closest things he had to parents. It was easy for him to recognize when either of them were troubled. “Is something wrong? Is it the Union? The mentorship program?”

Jan and Scott shared a quick look and both laughed. “No, Henry, nothing’s wrong. It’s actually good news.” Jan paused, looking toward Scott, who finished up a sip of orange juice.

“Hank, last night, I asked Jan to marry me.” Hank’s jaw dropped.  _ Oh my god, duh. _ He chastised himself, noticing for the first time that Jan’s left hand was adorned with a sparkling diamond ring. It wasn’t large or ostentatious, but it had a simple beauty to it. 

“Wow. I mean, uh—wow!” Hank had a feeling similar to the one he had the other night when he was drugged. “Did you say yes?” 

Hearing Jan and Scott’s laughter helped ease Hank’s mind again. “I did.” Jan was smiling wide. She looked as happy as Hank had ever seen her. Scott’s color-changing eyes were a clear, happy cerulean. 

Hank shook his head with a grin and pushed himself up from the table, striding around to embrace both Scott and Jan. “This is amazing! I’m so happy for you two! My two cool, youthful parents are getting married.”

* * *

“Say what you will about Barbara Gordon, but when she takes you on a date, it’s never boring.” Dick winked at Barbara, who rolled her eyes in response.

“It’s not Barbara Gordon,  _ Ric _ . It’s Rachel Cobb. And next time we go on an undercover date, you’re paying.” Dick Grayson, or  _ Ric Cobb _ , as he was calling himself today, laughed at his pretend-wife. 

“Sounds good, Rach.” Dick’s eyes shifted toward the entrance of the restaurant as a middle-aged woman finished speaking to the hostess and strode toward their table. “Showtime, dearest.” 

The older woman sat down at the table next to Dick and Barbara’s, casually opening a menu. Dick pulled out his phone and examined it carefully, keeping the raven-haired woman in his peripherals. “I’ve heard the duck is exquisite.” The woman’s voice was quiet. 

“The first time I came here, I had the duck. Last time, I had the chicken. This time, I think I’ll have the fish.” Barbara spoke the code words slowly, never looking up from her own menu. The dark-haired woman set her menu down.

“The Cobbs?” Dick nodded in answer. “Alley out back. Two minutes.” The woman still never looked directly at Dick or Barbara as she stood up and briskly exited the restaurant. 

* * *

“Sorry about the codespeak and the rudeness.” The woman’s expression was warm, her deep green eyes sincere. Dick/Ric felt a wave of deja vu at the woman’s familiar appearance. “It’s sort of silly, but you can never be too careful.”   
  


“We totally understand.” Barbara/Rachel said quickly, reaching her hand out toward the woman. “I’m Rachel, this is my husband Ric.”

“Marilyn Dagget. Very nice to meet you.” Marilyn shook both Ric and Rachel’s hands. “I understand you heard about our organization from our contact in Metropolis. How much did she tell you?”

“Not much, really.” Ric frowned and rubbed the back of his head, fingers gingerly grazing over the large scar from his bullet wound. “She said you helped people, like us. Working class people.” 

“We do. Our methods are… Controversial. But they are effective. And we are very careful when choosing our targets.”

“The factories.” Rachel nodded.

“Correct. We’re careful to ensure that we don’t put any person in harm’s way.” Marilyn paused, briefly. “We just want things to be fair. Billionaires, millionaires, they’re too far removed from normal people. Normal people who work in dangerous factories making their products while they sit in office spaces more expensive than the factory workers’ houses.”

“We understand.” Ric said gently. “We want to help, too.” 

“Marilyn, obviously we’ve only just met, so you can’t possibly trust us.” Rachel quickly followed up Ric’s words. Dick smacked hismelf mentally—he was being too eager. The nagging voice in the back of his head about the familiarity of this woman made him antsy. He focused on Barbara as she continued. “We wanted to give you, not quite an olive branch, but a gift to start building some trust.”

Rachel handed a flash drive to Marilyn. “This drive is full of information on the crime families of Gotham and Bludhaven. Phone records, emails, transaction histories, assets—it’s all there.”

“Hmm. This is… interesting. We rarely receive gifts from people who are potentially interested in joining our cause.” Marilyn offered a small smile. “I appreciate this.”

“Rach and I have a history of taking down people who got rich by stepping on others. We wouldn’t want to tell you who to target for whatever’s next, but we figured you might be interested in the corrupt upper class.” Ric slid his hands into his pockets. 

A moment of silence was interrupted by a quiet buzzing noise. Marilyn glanced at her phone, then quickly looked back up toward Rachel and Ric. “It was nice to meet you both. I’m afraid I have to go.” She handed a pager to Rachel, then turned and strode out of the alley. “We’ll be in touch.”

  
  


“Overall, it went pretty well.” Barbara leaned against the side of the batcomputer console. “Whenever she plugs in the drive, it should beam the signal to the batcomputer’s system. We’ll be able to see whatever they’re up to. It’s just a waiting game for now.”

As he so often did, Batman leaned back in the chair that Dick had named ‘the bat-chair’ long ago. “Good work. We’ll have to keep a close eye on the crime families in the meantime, to make sure they aren’t attacked with the information you gave to Marilyn.” With his cowl pulled back behind his head, Bruce Wayne had a pensive look on his face. “You’re quiet, Dick.” 

He glanced toward Nightwing, who stood nearby with his arms folded, staring into space. Dick shook his head quickly. “Sorry. I’m just thinking. Babs—did Marilyn look familiar to you?” 

“Not really.” Barbara’s brow furrowed slightly in concern. “You recognized her?”

“I’m not sure.” Dick admitted. 

“Perhaps she has ‘one of those faces’, Master Dick.” Alfred Pennyworth strolled into the cave, offering a platter of refreshments. 

“Perhaps, Alfie.” Dick smiled as he took a glass from Alfred’s platter. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome, sir. How goes your tutelage of young Master Henry?” Alfred set the newly empty platter down. Dick glanced at Bruce as he swallowed a sip from his smoothie. Bruce had expressed general support of Dick taking Hank under his wing, but Dick suspected his mentor had opinions that he wasn’t sharing. 

“It’s going well. Hank doesn’t have nearly as much experience as Damian did when he started, but he’s a far more eager student.” Dick took another sip of smoothie.

“A quick student, too. He did some good detective work the other night.” Barbara smiled at Dick, while Bruce raised an eyebrow just slightly.

“You’ve worked with Henry, Barbara?” Bruce glanced between his two former students.

“Um, yes?” Batgirl glanced toward Dick with an apologetic look.

“Hmm.” The trademark Batman  _ hmm. _ A single syllable with a thousand possible meanings. Dick cleared his throat quickly.

“I thought it would be helpful if Hank worked with the whole family, to give him a broader perspective.” He explained. “I asked them each individually, of course. It’s not my place to force them to teach my partner, or to reveal their identities to him.” 

“The  _ whole _ family?” Bruce clasped his hands in front of his face, obscuring his mouth from view. Dick sighed. 

“I’m sorry, Bruce, I just don’t know if Hank is ready to meet Batman, or Bruce Wayne, for that matter. And I didn’t know if you wanted to meet him! I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position.” Dick was telling half truths, somewhat of a pointless endeavor when speaking to the world’s greatest detective. 

“Of course you didn’t know. You didn’t ask me.” Bruce spun back in the bat chair, hands beginning to fly across the keyboard. “I understand, Dick,” a teasing warmth was now present in Bruce’s voice, “He’s  _ your _ Robin, after all.”


	5. Chapter 5

Hank snapped his arm forward, flexing his shoulder and tricep and flicking his wrist. Three wingdings spun through the air and embedded themselves in each of the three targets across the room. One of the shurikens stuck into the bullseye of the middle target, the other two found themselves in the ring just outside of their targets’ bullseyes. 

Kite frowned. He had hoped that spending time in the training room would help clear his mind, but so far he wasn’t finding any success. Between the news from Scott and Jan, his failure to catch the thief the other night, the possibility that the thief was in fact his oldest friend, and the whole rooftop makeout session, Hank’s mind had been swimming all day. 

He had already made one attempt to remedy the torrent of thoughts in his brain. 

_ “Thanks so much, again, for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Carter.” Hank offered a warm smile to Liz’s parents.  _

_   
_ _ “Henry Duncan, you are far too polite for a young man of your age.” Liz’s mother laughed, her short and wavy blonde hair bouncing. “Please, for me, call me Elaine.”  _

_ “You can call me Mr. Carter.” Hank turned toward toward the salt-and-pepper-haired man. Hank’s momentary discomfort was washed away by the kind look in the man’s blue eyes. “Or George. Whichever you prefer, Hank.”  _

_ “That’s strange. I heard someone say ‘thank you for dinner’, but no one addressed me, nor the salad I slaved over.” Liz’s smirk spread to Hank, pulling the corners of his mouth outward into a wide, probably silly-looking, grin.  _

_ “So sorry, Elizabeth. Thank you very much for the salad.” Hank winked as the Carters and he sat down to the dinner table. _

Hank blipped back into the present. Hank had joined the Carters for dinner because typically, being with Liz was so easy, he didn’t have to think at all. But his head still felt as crowded as the subway car he took on the way back from Liz’s brownstone.

“Hey, a bullseye! Nice arm there, Kite.” Dick’s cheerful voice rang through the basement of Grayson’s Gym. Hank gave a small smile to his mentor’s praise, but wasn’t satisfied. 

“Just  _ one _ bullseye, though.” The sandy-haired young man chided himself. He shook his head and looked at Dick. “How are you, Dick? I know it’s only been a few days, but it feels like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Aww, I missed you too, kid.” Dick went to ruffle Hank’s hair, but Hank batted his arm away with a smile and a roll of his eyes. “I’m doing alright. There’s been a lot on my mind recently, but hey—that’s life sometimes.”

“I’ve kind of been dealing with the same thing.” Hank rubbed the back of his head. “You mean this just keeps happening? Even when I’m as old as you?”

Dick threw a light jab to Hank’s stomach, too quick to block, but only hard enough to elicit a small “_Oof!_” from his protege. “Afraid so, champ. But I know a good fix, even if it’s a temporary one.” Dick winked at Hank, removing his blue domino mask from his bag. “Wanna go beat up some criminals?” 

Hank was already pressing his own mask onto his face. Kite grinned up at his mentor, his identity now safe and sound. “Gee whiz, Nightwing, I thought you’d never ask.” 

* * *

Kite and Nightwing sat with their legs dangling off the rooftop of Ralph’s Bodega, each of the masked young men scarfing down a sandwich with possibly alarming speed. 

Ralph’s eyes widened in surprise when Hank had ordered a chicken and avocado melt for himself and an american club for his mentor, but nevertheless, Ralph made the sandwiches for the young vigilante and encouraged him to have a nice night.

“So are we agreed that the score is 8 to 6?” Nightwing asked his partner in between bites. 

“Hmm.” Hank swallowed a hunk of chicken. “I still say I had the one guy in the beanie hat.”

“My escrima stick knocked him out!” Dick argued.

“Yeah, and he was an easy target for you because I had him in a headlock!” Hank replied with a smirk. 

Dick took a big gulp of water, exhaling a refreshed  _ ‘ahh’  _ upon finishing. “Okay, so we’ll share that point. I stay at 8, you get bumped up to 7.” 

“What are we playing for? Bragging rights?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” Dick rose, crumpling the trash from their snack into a brown paper bag and tossing it into the trash can on the sidewalk below.

“Did they really used to call you and Batman the  _ Dynamic Duo _ ?” Hank stretched as he stood up.

“It wasn’t just me. Batman and Robin are the Dynamic Duo, no matter who wears the ‘R’.” Dick turned toward his partner. “By the way, you’ll have a lesson with the Red Hood in a few days.” 

“Is he not, like, a bad guy?” Kite adjusted his blue gloves, feeling a bit anxious. 

“Nah, he’s just a little rebellious. Anti-hero at worst. He was Robin after me, remember? You know, until he died. But he’s been back for a while, and gotten over all that stuff. Mostly.” Nightwing flashed the casual smile he wore so often when telling his partner distinctly not-casual information.

“Anyway. I think the winner should get to decide our team name.” Hank fired his grapple across the night sky, pulling himself toward the roof of the Silver Lining Casino. He heard his mentor laugh loudly as he followed.

“It’s really more of a nickname than an official title. But we can certainly discuss it.” 

The two landed silently on the casino rooftop, and Nightwing knelt down near the edge of the roof, overlooking the docks below. Hank followed suit, kneeling next to his mentor. “You’re sure that there’s going to be a break-in here?”

“I’m not,” Dick admitted. “But I am sure there’s going to be embezzlement.” 

Hank raised an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”   
  
“It’s a staged break-in. The Vonn family has ties to the casino owner, Aaron Silver. Vonn family thugs will rob the place, but then the haul is split fifty-fifty with Silver. A clever idea, almost.”

  
“So now we wait.” Hank slumped to the rooftop and took a seat. Dick joined him.

“Now, we wait.” Hank felt his head begin to crowd with thoughts again. The crime fighting was a good distraction, but waiting for crime to happen was not as good. 

“You know, I was a 17 year old superhero, once upon a time.” Nightwing said gently. “And more importantly, I’m your partner. Your friend. You can talk to me. About anything.” 

Hank smiled at his mentor. It was easy to get caught up in the thrills and amazing feats of Nightwing, sometimes he forgot that Dick Grayson was also just a very good dude. “I guess I’m just still adjusting.”

“You’ve had a lot of changes in your life recently.” Dick nodded.

“I have. But that’s not really what’s throwing me off. Maybe it’s part of it—I have so much going on that I forget other people around me are also changing.” Hank laughed half-heartedly at himself. “Scott and Jan are getting married.”

“Wow!”

“That’s what I said. It’s crazy.” Hank paused, then quickly continued. “It’s so great—I mean—I’m so, so happy for them. It’s just another big change. My school friends are headed away from Bludhaven and off to college…”

“And your girl-situation.” Dick’s words caused Hank’s pulse to quicken slightly. 

_ Glaring neon signs. Pinned to the cement of a rooftop. Silver eyes staring into his. “Annoying. But also cute.” Soft lips pressing against his. The smell of cinnamon.  _

Hank coughed. He hadn’t told Dick his suspicion that he might know the thief. 

_ Sunlight filtering through trees. Sitting on a park bench. “You are so annoying!” Silver eyes crinkling with laughter. _

It  _ had _ to be Aubrey. The odds were astronomically against such a coincidence, but Hank just knew. He wouldn’t forget her face, her eyes, her voice. They were all slightly different, matured by a few years, but he was positive that they belonged to Aubrey Barrow.

But Dick hadn’t been there. Batgirl didn’t see the thief’s face, let alone the smooch she planted on him. How could he know?

“Hank? Your date with Liz? Something was weird about it, right?” Nightwing’s eyebrows were raised behind his mask. 

“Ah. Yes, my ‘Liz situation’.” Hank laughed and shook his head in relief. “I mean, it was alright. I had dinner with her family tonight.”

“And how did that go?” Nightwing’s face still showed concern. Kite brought a finger to his chin in thought. 

_ Hank’s back hit the door with a ‘thud’. One hand cupped his cheek, the other held the back of his head. Liz’s tongue wrestled with his own.  _

_ “So, does this count as a kiss?” Hank managed to get the words out as he pushed a thick strand of blonde hair behind Liz’s ear. _

_ “Shut up, Hank.” Liz murmured, moving Hank’s arm to wrap around her waist. _

Hank blinked, suddenly aware that his mouth was pulled into a lazy smile. His mentor stood across from him with folded arms. “I’m guessing from the dumb grin on your face, that dinner went well.” 

“Very good. We had falafel.” Kite adjusted his mask, and Nightwing let out a cynical laugh. 

“Ah, that’s what the kids call it these days.” Dick smirked as he peered over the edge of the rooftop. “Uh-oh. Showtime, Kite.” 

An alarm sounded in the casino, and the pair dropped down to the dock to work. Three thugs stood outside the casino entrance. Kite hurled an escrima stick into the leftmost thug’s head— _ thonk! _ The man crumpled to the ground as the stick bounced back into Hank’s gloved hand. 

“Nicely done, Kite.” Hank whipped his head toward his mentor, who flipped through the air toward the other two surprised thugs. Nightwing kicked both feet out in front of him, each of his heels finding its own home in the center of either man’s sternum. 

The thugs fell backwards with a grunt, knocked unconscious upon collision with the dock, while Nightwing gracefully hopped off of them. Kite dusted himself off and offered a handshake to his mentor. “Alright, I accept defeat. 8 to 10 isn’t too bad of a loss.”

“Something’s not right. This was way too easy.” Nightwing’s head swiveled around, scanning the environment for danger.

“There aren’t any more guys inside, or here on the docks. The bag of money is right here.” Hank picked up the burlap sack. “Man, all this bag needs is a big black dollar sign.” 

“Stay focused, Kite.” Dick’s words brought a frown to Hank’s face. He looked at the bag again, poking it. On an instinct, Hank peered in through the bag’s opening.

“Hey ‘Wing, what are poker chips worth outside of a casino?” Dick’s head turned toward Hank, who pulled a circular black chip out of the bag, holding it with two fingers to display to his mentor. 

“Nothing. Not worth stealing…” Nightwing suddenly stood straight up and dashed toward the Casino entrance. “It’s a distraction! Come on!”

Hank followed his partner through the double doors, and the smell of cigarette smoke and beer hit his nostrils. He felt a bit silly wearing his uniform in such a public and brightly lit place, but he squashed the feeling and reminded himself there was work to do. 

Nightwing fired his grapple upward, pulling himself up to the second floor balcony, and Kite followed closely behind. The heroes burst through another pair of double doors, into a large, well decorated office. 

A white-haired man lay on an expensive looking sofa, unmoving. “Oh my god.” Dick said quietly as he rushed to the man to check his vitals. 

Hank eyed the far wall of the office, a large glass pane facing the Atlantic Ocean with a door leading out to a balcony. A chilly breeze flowed into the room from the open door. Kite ran toward the doorway with a sudden sinking feeling. 

Shortly after emerging onto the balcony, Hank felt his mentor’s presence next to him as his suspicions were confirmed. A slender figure was visible against the backdrop of the Bludhaven skyline, running gracefully across the roof of the Bludhaven Public Library. 

“It’s her.” Hank muttered. He could tell from the way her silhouette moved against the neon lights. 

“Her?” Nightwing was puzzled. 

“The thief who got away from me. It’s her.” Hank whipped out his grapple to give chase, but a strong hand grasped his arm.

“Whoa, easy, tiger. No offense, but she got away last time, and she’s got a way better head start this time.” Nightwing’s voice was cheerful, not chiding or condescending, but Hank still glared down at the ground in frustration. “Hey, man, cheer up. Bad guys getting away is part of the game. It’s just a sign that you have to be more prepared for next time. We’ve got a real treat, right here. We’re first to the crime scene—it hasn’t been all messed up by the police yet.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Hank looked up at the blue domino mask. Nightwing sported his usual playful smirk. 

“Knowledge is power, right? Knowledge such as—oh, I don’t know… whether a person of interest is male or female.” Dick’s tone was still upbeat, but certainly teasing. 

“Oh, yeah. Uh, she’s a girl. My bad.” Hank rubbed the back of his neck as the pair reentered the office. 

Nightwing rolled his eyes with a smile. “You can tell me about her later. Now put your detective hat on, kid. We’ve got investigating to do.”

* * *

The young woman landed on the balcony railing with the grace of a gymnast on a balance beam. Without making a sound, she entered the hotel room and slid the screen door closed behind her, eager to lock out the night winds that blustered at the thirteenth floor. 

In the darkness, she changed clothes, stripping off her light leather armor and placing it gently in the bottom of the chest at the back of the room’s closet. She strode out of the room and down the call, black pouch in one hand and keycard in the other. 

Her shoulders tensed on her way to the elevator, feeling vulnerable and exposed even in the dim light of the hallway. A quick swipe of the keycard, the quiet whirr of the elevator doors opening and closing, and a soft ding as she pressed the  _ 25  _ at the top of the panel of buttons. 

She exhaled and rolled her shoulders back, opening silver eyes to take in the mirrored walls of the elevator. She gingerly touched the bruise on her chin, the purple mark a stark contrast against her pale skin. She couldn’t remember the last time her skin had any sort of blemish. 

The light freckles that used to occupy her face had disappeared years ago. Her face wasn’t exposed to enough sunlight to maintain them. Her eyes met her reflection’s eyes as she ran a hand through her light brown hair. She slipped the keycard into the back pocket of her black jeans and adjusted the sleeves of her pale gray top. 

At one time she might have worn an outfit like this to school, or to spend time with friends. Drinking coffee, eating greasy food, watching television. Things that teenage girls do. Her fingers brushed at her bruised chin once more, but the touch she felt was not her own. 

All over again, she felt the hard heel of a palm. All in the span of one moment, her hood and mask pushed away, her exposed face connected to the blue gloved palm, the brown-clad arm and shoulder, the white skin of his neck and face. His eyes were hidden by a mask. It looked like the breast plumage of a hawk, offwhite flecked with brown. ‘Kite’.

The mask hid his identity, but the unhidden features... His hair, sandy, undecided between dark blonde and light brown. His mouth, quirked into a half smile revealing only some of his upper teeth while he taunted her. What was so familiar about the boy? She had kissed him to give herself time to get the needle. Used his emotions as a tool, just as she had done many times before while working a job.

The click of the elevator reaching the twenty-fifth floor interrupted her thoughts. Her reflection disappeared as the doors slid open and she entered the penthouse. 

“How did it go?” The tall man swirled a glass in his left hand, his regal features keeping his expression even-keel. 

“You tell me.” The young woman handed him the black pouch. He gently loosened the drawstring that kept it closed to reveal its contents, a metal hook, silvery steel marbled with light flecks of rust.

“Ahh, Aubrey. Well done.” The man’s blue eyes sparkled over the hook as he gave the praise. She felt warm pride rise in her chest. “You have such a talent for this, you know.” 

“I try.” Aubrey kept her eyes on the floor, her voice quiet. 

“This whaling hook was used back when Bludhaven was still a Commonwealth. Before it was given its first name, Blutige Haven.” She listened with interest. She always enjoyed when he spoke about history. “Aaron Silver’s ancestors made their fortune from whaling. Much of the whale blood in the bay that gave Bludhaven its name was due to the Silver empire. This hook is embedded in the history of the city. History is a priceless quality… But of course, that won’t stop us from trying our best to quantify it.” The man took a sip from the brandy that occupied his glass, and smiled warmly. “Thank you, Aubrey.” 

“I’m always happy to help, John.” Aubrey clasped her hands behind her back. She was about to open her mouth to speak again, but his words were faster.

“Did you run into that young man in the mask again?” John’s blue eyes had hardened; they were unreadable.

“No. Vonn’s men bought me more than enough time.” Aubrey held his gaze, shoving down any unfocused thoughts at the mention of Kite. 

“Perfect.” His eyes relaxed again and he let out a light chuckle. “Vonn’s men were supposed to help Silver to steal money he doesn’t need from his own business, but tonight they helped  _ you  _ to steal from him.”

“Poetic justice at it’s finest.” Aubrey flashed a small smile. “What we’re all about.”

“It’s unfortunate that these vigilante types would not be able to understand that.” Aubrey nodded her head at John’s words. “What was his name? Kite? If he gave you as much trouble as you said, then imagine if he worked  _ with  _ us rather than against us.”

“He was… impressive.” He appeared in her mind again, smirking and holding the pouch he managed to steal from her momentarily. John’s words snapped her back into the present.

“Aubrey. You seem distracted. Why don’t you get some sleep? You’ll have another exciting night tomorrow.” John had already turned his attention back to the silver hook.

“Thank you, John.” Suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion, she retreated back into the elevator.


	6. Chapter 6

“It obviously seems counterintuitive, at first, but for each fire we set, a whole staff of working class people are made more safe.” Dick, currently Ric, nodded his head as he held the gaze of the sandy-haired man in front of him. He briefly allowed his eyes to wander to Barbara, or Rachel, his wife.

Her expression was muted, attentive, with the slightest hint of a smile. Her green eyes shot over to his for just a microsecond, then back to the man speaking to them. Dick held back a smile at the message her eyes sent him.  _ Pay attention _ . Just like in high school, Babs was keeping him focused.

Dick glanced once more around the room. It was sparsely decorated. The table and chairs that the four of them occupied, a desk and a desktop computer, a map on the wall, and a few lamps that lit the place. The small studio apartment in the south end of Gotham must have been used as an office space rather than a place of living.

“The fires are not without cost, of course. But that cost is paid by millionaires, billionaires—people who can afford it.” Something about this man, Robert Dagget, Marilyn’s husband, struck him as familiar. His brown eyes? The way he spoke? His sandy beard reminded Dick vaguely of Oliver Queen, the Green Arrow. But that wasn’t it. “The factories have to upgrade their safety regulations, and the workers who participate in the following class action suit won’t have to worry about paying for food for the next year.”

“That’s really amazing.” Barbara/Rachel smiled warmly toward Robert and Marilyn. 

“What’s amazing, is the information you gave us on the crime bosses. We’re in talks with some… associates, who are helping us hit them where it hurts the most.” Marilyn had a determined look in her forest green eyes. 

“That is, their bank accounts.” Robert laughed. “Our friends are helping to redistribute the excess wealth gained through corruption to the people who need it most.” The bearded man paused for a moment, his eyes shining slightly. “And it’s all thanks to you two, Ric and Rachel.” 

“We’re happy to help, honestly.” Dick/Ric flashed a smile. “Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, just like Robin Hood.” Dick’s mention of his favorite book brought smiles to Robert’s and Marilyn’s faces. 

“That is the idea,” Marilyn started, “Although we don’t end up giving it  _ all _ away, so that we can keep our operations going.”

“Are these marks all targets?” Barbara motioned to a map of the eastern seaboard on the wall, covered in marks of various colors. 

“That’s right. They’re mostly factories, but we’ve started looking into warehouses and construction sites as possible targets.” Robert answered. 

“All of those environments pose potential danger to the laborers.” Marilyn followed up. 

“What is your next move? And is there any way we can help?” Dick once again found himself impatient, he clenched his teeth behind his closed lips, reminding himself not to rush into this. 

“That’s actually why we called you in. Robert and I have to meet with a contact tonight to discuss a larger plan we have in the works.” Marilyn spoke in her matter-of-fact, all-business tone. “Oswald Cobblepot is hosting a large benefit dinner in a few weeks, with many big names from Gotham, Bludhaven, and Metropolis alike on the guest list.”

“Cobblepot is hosting a benefit dinner? That seems a little…” Dick’s face twisted in confusion. 

“Out of character.” Barbara offered, taking his hand and giving him a look that reassured him and and the same time reminded him to  _ slow down _ . 

“Indeed. That, coupled with the fact that many names on the guest list appeared in the records you provided us, is why we want you to investigate his hand in the benefit dinner.” Robert folded his arms. “To be honest, we’re not sure what we’re even looking for, but we figured since Rachel is so good with a computer, she could pull any data and files she thought might be useful.” 

“I know we’re asking a lot,” Marilyn’s tone had softened. “It could be dangerous.  _ ‘Penguin’  _ has even given Batman a run for his money before. We understand if you don’t feel comfortable doing all of this.”

Dick’s blue eyes flicked toward Barbara’s green ones. He felt his mouth imitate hers, curling into a small smile. Her sparkling eyes told him she had received the message he tried to convey with his own. “I think we can handle it.” Dick turned toward Marilyn and Robert as Barbara chuckled softly.

“We’re kind of…  _ into  _ danger.” 

* * *

Hank frowned at the statue in front of him. “Can you believe they bring kids here on field trips? This thing is creepy as hell.” 

“I can.” William Bennet laughed heartily. “I was one of those kids not terribly long ago. Sixth grade trip to the Haven Museum. It was awesome.”

“Was this statue here back them?” Hank turned to his best friend, whose warm brown eyes crinkled as he grinned.

“Oh yeah. I had nightmares for weeks. Look at its weird fingers.” The statue was not made from  _ actual _ human teeth, but with clay. Some twisted artist had just decided to mold the clay into thousands of replica human teeth. 

Hank eyed the long fingers, outstretched as though they were about to close around someone’s throat. “Okay, well I need to look at something else, like, immediately.” 

Will laughed again. “Let’s go look at the Oberon collection.” Hank smiled as he followed his friend. Will was the third friend he made in Bludhaven, after Liz and Kenzie. The four of them became nearly inseparable their senior year. 

Before Will, Hank had never had a real guy friend that was his age. So many boys in the foster system were just too defensive, too on edge to really be friends. Will was the first young man that Hank got past the ‘casual acquaintance’ stage with. 

Hank grinned as he thought about his friendship with Will. Like his relationship with Liz, it was so easy, so normal. But recently, since Hank and Liz’s relationship had become more complicated, he found Will to be a more reliable source of normalcy. 

“Hold up, Speed Racer.” Hank reached for Will’s shoulder and spun him around to face the glass case they had almost walked right past. Will’s eyes widened as he spun, then narrowed when he saw the case.

“Come on, man, not this again.” Will groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, but Hank could see a small smile plastered on his face.

“ _ ‘Slice of Haven’ _ .” Hank smirked as he read the plaque on the case aloud. “‘ _ A collection of works based on a theme of beauty hiding in plain sight, right here in Bludhaven. By William Bennet, Bludhaven resident. _ ” 

“I told them to just put Will on the plaque.” Will muttered, crossing his arms and hunching his shoulders.

“Man, you are the  _ worst. _ ” Hank laughed. He gazed at the various paintings. A sunlit boardwalk with the Atlantic Ocean for a backdrop. The neon signs of the Melville Section. Three young people laughing in a coffee shop. “This is literally like the coolest thing ever. You’re in a damn museum, Will!  _ I’m _ in the museum! Me, Liz, and Kenz right there in the Union! That’s all you!”

“Yeah, I guess it’s pretty cool.” Will’s smile was sheepish as he glanced down at the floor. 

“_Pretty cool?!_” Hank shook his head. “I can’t believe you. How many kids get their paintings displayed in Museums, Will?”

“I mean, plenty, I’m sure… There are, you know, contests and stuff.” Hank rolled his eyes. Will was possibly the most talented person he knew. It was annoying how humble he was.

“Whatever, let’s go see the damn Oberon collection.” Hank began walking once more, glancing around to the sculptures and paintings that lined the walls. “How’s Kenz doing?”

“Uh…” Will’s voice sounded strange.  _ Ah, shit _ . Hank knew he had just put his foot in his mouth. “I’m not sure, hopefully she’s doing well.” 

Will and Kenzie Reed had begun dating shortly after Hank met both of them. They were a great couple, somehow being adorable all the time without being annoying about it. Kenzie had moved to North Carolina a few weeks ago as part of an early orientation program for college. Earlier in the summer, Will had expressed his anxieties about what starting college would mean for their relationship.

“You… You guys broke up, didn’t you?” Hank’s voice was quiet.  _ Idiot. _ He wasn’t sure what to say—everything he thought of seemed wrong.

“Yeah. It was just… It was a lose-lose situation, you know?” Will paused for a moment, then coughed. “Neither of us wanted to break up, but we also knew that with college coming—her in North Carolina and me in California… We kept going back and forth on wanting to try long-distance, and finally I just cut it off. I felt like it was unfair to both of us.”

“Man. I’m sorry, dude. That sucks big time, no matter how you slice it.” Hank stopped walking, and put a hand on Will’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, though, I think you made the right move.” 

“Thanks, Hank. It will be okay, I know. It’s just going to suck for a little, I guess.” Will’s eyes darkened, then lit up again. “Okay but seriously, the Oberon collection rocks so hard. It’s all this medieval stuff, like knights, horses, archers. Think like Robin Hood or King Arthur.”

Hank smiled and followed his friend, who was already walking forward again, motioning to the exhibit at the end of the hall. “Erica Redmund, the artist who made it all, said she was inspired by tracing her ancestry back to—”

Hank’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of a familiar slender figure, and a flash of light brown hair tied back in an elaborate braid. He quickly Will off and pulled him behind a large sculpture of a raven, carved out of shiny black obsidian. 

“Dude, what the hell?!” Hank ripped his hand away from its position covering Will’s mouth.

“Sorry, that was uncool. I just…” Hank peeked his head out from behind the statue, scanning across the room and finding the light brown hair again, standing next to a tall raven haired man. Hank was positive it was Aubrey Barrow.  _ What’s she doing here? And who’s the guy?  _

“Who is that?” Will whispered, and Hank silently thanked the universe that his friend was smart enough to keep his voice low. “Someone from school?”   
  


“No.” 

“Do you know her?” Hank took a breath and counted to three, trying to remain patient with his current best friend while he glared across the room at his previous best friend.

“I used to.” 

“That—what?” Will’s voice was growing louder. “What about the guy next to her?”

“Will! Shh!” Hank turned around for a moment to give the dark skinned young man a look. 

“Hank. They’re just looking at the Oberon exhibit. What is the big deal? If you don’t tell me I’m going over there.” 

“Wait!” Hank hissed, then sighed, trying rapidly to think of something to tell Will. He settled on the truth. “Look, that girl used to be my best friend. Back when I lived in Gotham. I ran into her the other night, and, uh, we made out.” Well, not the  _ whole _ truth, obviously.

“Dude.” Will’s eyes widened. “But, wait—you don’t want to go over and talk to her? Why? She looks super cute!”

Hank furrowed his brow.  _ Really dug yourself a hole, here, Duncan. _ “I… Uh…”

“Oh my god! It’s you and Liz, right? You feel weird about it because you and Liz have some sort of  _ thing _ going on.” Will smirked at Hank, whose face contorted into a sheepish grin.  _ Okay, more of the sort-of-truth. _

“You got me.” Hank turned back to the exhibit, and saw the young woman and the tall man walk away further into the museum. “Okay, we can go look now.”

“Henry Duncan, you dog.” Will was giggling to himself. Hank rolled his eyes and strode toward the Oberon collection.

“Shut up, William. Let’s go look at ye olde art exhibit.”  _ And more importantly, figure out why Aubrey was looking at it. _

* * *

Dick adjusted his tie, and opened the door to the Lamborghini, feeling his mouth curl into a smile as Barbara Gordon took his hand and stepped out. Dick didn’t know much about women’s fashion, but with the way Barbara looked in the simple, sleek black dress she wore, he figured she’d have offers for modeling work within the hour.

“You alright there, Richard?” Barbara smirked at him and smoothed the gray lapels of his suit jacket as they casually strolled toward the entrance of the Iceberg Lounge. 

“I’m doing great, Babs. You look incredible, by the way.” Barbara rolled her eyes, locking arms with Dick and smiling warmly toward the bouncer. “Grayson, party of two.”

“Go ahead Mr. Grayson.” Dick chuckled as they entered the lounge. It’s not like they  _ had _ to sneak into the lounge. Batgirl and Nightwing could easily take on whatever security thugs that Cobblepot drug up from the back alleys of Gotham. 

But, it would probably look suspicious to Robert and Marilyn if Nightwing and Batgirl broke into the lounge on the same night that Dick and Barbara were supposed to do some snooping around in the Penguin’s business. 

The pair took a seat in a circular booth near a large ice sculpture—a roaring lion. “Obviously, this place is a cesspool for skeezballs to meet up and network with other skeezballs..." Barbara’s head turned slowly as she took in the interior of the lounge. “But, at least it’s an aesthetically pleasing cesspool.” 

Dick laughed quietly, glancing around the room and then back to Barbara. Dim lighting from elegant light fixtures, the tinkling of piano keys layered with the low rumble of the crowd. From above, the sounds of slot machines, roulettes, and card tables. “It’s something. A little pretentious for a circus rube like me.” 

Barbara ordered drinks from an approaching waitress as Dick continued to scan the area, his eyes following another waitress that strode toward a security guard and whispered something in his ear. The security guard rose slowly, then walked with a brisk pace down a hallway to an elevator. 

_ Bingo. _ Dick got Barbara’s attention with his eyes and nodded toward the elevator quickly. She raised her eyebrows in response, then smiled graciously as the waitress returned and placed two glasses down on the table. 

Dick rubbed the accompanying lime garnish around the rim of the glass before squeezing its juice into the drink and taking a sip. “Vodka sodas, huh? A little vanilla for Barbara Gordon.” 

Barbara’s eyes sparkled behind her glass as she took a sip from her drink. “Next time you can order as fancy a drink as you’d like, circus rube. Didn’t you promise me a surprise distraction? Where is that?”

Dick laughed and brought his glass to his mouth once more, pausing as he heard a voice in his ear. “We’re ready when you are, Birdwatcher.” 

“Ten-four, Red Bird. You’re good to go.” Dick winked at Barbara as he quietly replied.

“Is it too late to back out of this?” A higher pitched voice sighed in Dick’s earpiece. 

“No backing out now, Hairball.” The lower voice had a quiver of laughter in it.

“I’m choosing the code names next time.” Grumbled the higher voice.

Dick grinned and withheld laughter at the banter in his earpiece. “Okay, you two, we don’t have all night.”

Barbara raised an eyebrow across the table and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the shattering of glass. A dark figure leapt through the window and onto the balcony railing of the second floor. 

The figure gracefully dismounted from the railing, flipping and landing softly on a table across the room. “Catwoman?” Barbara’s voice carried notes of genuine surprise. 

“Sort of.” Dick replied with a smirk. 

All the attention in the lounge was on the woman in the black bodysuit and goggles, until a blur of red and black flew through the shattered window and dove toward ‘Catwoman’. Red Robin and Catwoman flew at each other, hurling kicks, punches, and elbows but never landing a blow. 

“Nothing to see here, folks, we’re on the guest list!” Red Robin announced as he continued to trade whiffs with the black-clad woman. The exchange looked less like a fight and more like an elegant dance.

“Tim?” Barbara glanced toward Dick with a confused look on her face. Catwoman leapt back from Red Robin, performing a quick handspring and landing on another table. 

Dick took a casual sip from his glass as Red Robin chased Catwoman into the display in the center of the room—a small iceberg surrounded by water.

“Fly away, little bird. It’s too cold for you here,” Catwoman’s taunts echoed through the room. Barbara’s eyes widened at the words—the patrons of the lounge would not realize the timbre of Catwoman’s voice was a bit more shrill than her usual husky alto—but Babs knew exactly what she heard.

“Stephanie??” She hissed toward Dick, her eyes were narrowed but her voice had a tremble of laughter. She was amused by the distraction, just as he’d hoped.

“Time to go, Babs.” Dick grinned wide as he set his drink down and walked briskly across the floor. A small surge of adrenaline pumped through him, as he walked he felt Barbara fall into step with him while the eyes in the room still focused entirely on Tim and Steph’s little dance.

Dick quickly removed a small device, approximately the size and shape of a quarter, from his jacket and placed it on the elevator’s panel. The doors opened, and Dick retrieved the quarter-gadget as he and Barbara stepped inside.

Dick hit the bottom button of the elevator, and turned toward a smirking Barbara with her arms folded across her chest. “Why was Spoiler in a Catwoman costume?” 

“The distraction needed to be more believable. Why would Red Robin be chasing Spoiler around?” Dick shot Barbara a wink and tapped his earpiece. “Redbird and Hairball, we’re good. Thanks for the help.”

In the brief moment of solitude within the elevator, the sight of Barbara quietly caused a warm feeling to arise in Dick’s chest. “It’s cute when you do spy stuff.” She stepped toward him and adjusted his navy tie. 

Dick smiled and leaned in, his lips meeting hers for half a second before hearing a buzzing in his ear. 

“Nice work.” Stephanie’s normal cadence, no longer putting on the false Catwoman voice. 

“Nice work yourself.” It was Tim’s voice that was different, quieter and lower than usual. “Any chance you’ll keep that suit?”

“Hmm—You like it?” Stephanie switched back to the lower voice and giggled.

“Steph. Tim. Maybe take this off the commlink?” Dick rolled his eyes. “Thanks again for your help. And, uh—be safe, or whatever.” He shook his head. “Teenagers.”

Barbara was laughing against his chest. She stole another quick kiss as the elevator doors opened, revealing a dark room full of various boxes labeled with restaurant and bar supplies.  _ Club Soda. Silverware. Platters.  _

Dick peeked his head around the corner, scanning over a better lit hallway. He nodded to Barbara and they quickly dashed down the hall toward two large mahogany double doors.

“Penguin is in Metropolis tonight schmoozing with benefit attendees. His office should be unoccupied.” Dick fished a lockpick out of his sleeve and went to work on the double doors. 

“You’re not alone, you know. Lots of capes have a villain crush or two. At least lots of the women do.” Dick opened the door and held it for Barbara, who strode into the office. 

The walls were adorned with arctic-climate-animal themed art. The look was a little excessive, trying too hard to seem fancy. _Classic Cobblepot._

“You guys talk about stuff like that?” Dick’s mouth hung open as Barbara sat down at the computer and plugged a thumb drive into it.

“Sure. Black Canary had a thing for Hush, for a little while.” Dick raised both eyebrows in surprise as Barbara’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

“You’re kidding.” Documents, emails, images, and spreadsheets disappeared as quickly as they popped into view on the screen. 

  
“No. Something about him being a Bruce Wayne evil twin.” Before Dick could comment on how disturbed he was, Barbara spoke again. “I kind of liked Two-Face.”

“ _ What? _ ” Had he been drinking anything, Dick would have done a spit-take. “Babs. Two-Face? He’s hideous. And a murderer.”

“Well, Harvey Dent is definitely not hideous, and he went straight for a little while, remember? It’s kind of a ‘Phantom of the Opera’ thing.” One image popped up on the screen that gave Barbara pause. “Wait… this is the necklace that the thief stole the other night. The one that got away from Hank.”

“Are you sure?” Dick scanned over the silver necklace.

“Eidetic memory, Grayson.” Barbara gave him a look and tapped her temple.

_ I thought it was a photographic memory? What’s the difference? Gotta look that up later. _

“You think Penguin hired the thief?” Dick asked as Barbara continued her systematic audit of computer’s file. Another image popped up, a silver hook with just a hint of rust. “That’s the hook was stolen from Aaron Silver! Cobblepot has to be involved in this somehow.”

“There are forty-seven messages sent from this system admitting possession of stolen valuables. Family heirlooms, art, jewelry… Why tell someone that you had stolen something of theirs?” 

“Everything Penguin does is fueled by greed. The messages are like ransom notes.”

“Oh my god." Barbara put her hand to her own ear. Dick didn't realize she'd been wearing one. _Must be Oracle business._ "Aaron Silver is dead. No autopsy was done, but his body was found in his apartment. First responders think he was burned alive.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Then.**

"Please, please don't hurt me!" Aaron Silver pleaded. The man's face was covered in sweat nearly as soon as he was revived from unconsciousness. Nightwing glanced toward his protege, who pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

"Sheesh. Can you believe this guy?" Hank's voice did not hide his irritation.

Dick knew his partner was antsy. He'd been there. In his Robin days, when someone got away, he felt the need to chase them in every fiber of his being. But as Batman had told him many times, they weren't beat cops who ran after bad guys. They were detectives.

"He's a little spooked, Kite. Be nice." Nightwing knelt in front of Silver. "Do you remember what happened?"

"No." Silver said quickly, swallowing hard.

"Yeah he does." Kite had turned his attention toward the wall above the desk, decorated with a display of various antique whaling tools. The glass panel of the display was wide open, and there was clearly something missing from it. "The display is behind your desk, where you must have been sitting. There are two entrances to the room, and both are across the room from the desk. You must have seen her come in."

"I—I—" Silver stuttered. Hank expelled a loud groan, his whole body displaying his annoyance. Nightwing shot a look toward Kite. "Okay. I saw them come in. But only for a second. I could tell that they—"

"She." Hank interrupted.

"She—well, she obviously didn't have an appointment. I offered her money. I was afraid." Silver swallowed hard again.

"Did she say anything?" Nightwing asked gently.

"No. She walked past me and opened the display, and then I reached for the phone, and then… I don't remember." Silver glanced nervously between Nightwing and Kite.

Nightwing shared a look with his partner. "So she's just going to take something and leave, but then he reaches for the phone—" Hank nodded quickly.

"And she sticks him with this. Probably the same stuff she used on me." Kite's blue-gloved hand held the small needle that they found embedded in Silver's neck.

"What did she take? What's missing from the display?" Nightwing turned back to the older man. He briefly glanced at the display, and his eyes widened.

"No! My—my grandmother's whaling hook. It's been in my family for generations." Hank crossed his arms and looked at his mentor.

"Whalers? Your family got rich killing whales?" Dick quickly placed a hand on Kite's shoulder. Hank had a soft spot for animals. In their first week of working together, they had gone after a group of poachers, and Hank had been more cold and brutal than Dick thought was possible for the young man.

In this moment, Dick saw the same anger he saw that week. Kite's voice was low, but sharp. Dangerous. Nightwing could imagine Hank's green eyes, darkened with rage behind his mask.

"Kite." He kept the tone of his voice calm, and the grip of his partner's shoulder tight. "Is there any reason that someone would want to steal that hook?" Kite took a breath and turned around, stepping away from Silver to face the display once more.

"It's worth a lot of money. Probably thirty-thousand dollars. Why else would someone steal something?" Silver began to stand up from the couch, but Dick quickly jabbed a pressure point in his shoulder, and he crumpled.

"Huh. I thought _I _was doing the bad cop thing." Dick allowed himself to chuckle, now that Silver was unconscious once more.

"Regardless of your thief friend, he was still embezzling from the casino. Now let's go, we've got work to do."

* * *

Dick peered into the dark room, glancing around and listening, but detecting nothing. "It's clear. Come on."

Barbara quickly slipped through the door and strode right to the computer. "Do you think they have many more of these safe houses?"

"Who knows. They've been involved in over ten class action lawsuits of billionaires. They could have a fleet of yachts for all we know." Oracle's computer had alerted them when one of the thumb drives Barbara left to the Daggets had been used, leading them to the location of another studio apartment in the slums of Gotham.

Barbara went to work, her fingers clicking and tapping away, filling the silence of the room with an uptempo percussion beat. Dick searched the rest of the room, finding a lamp to turn on and providing some dim light. He quickly rifled through a drawer filled with papers.

"Chemical formulas." He muttered to himself. "Babs, did the autopsy of Silver's body get recorded yet?" Barbara paused her work on the computer, switching her view to her phone's screen instead.

"Do you think they're still at whatever meeting they were going to? I'm not sure how much time we have." Babs questioned as she swiped and tapped at her phone.

"I'm not sure they went to any meeting at all. I've been so stupid during all this. Should've put a tracker on one of them. Both of them." Dick glared at the page in front of him.

"The autopsy is in. Traces of manganese oxide ore and potassium hydroxide. Those combine to make—" Dick cut Barbara off, scowling.

"Potassium permanganate. Put those together with glycerin and water, and you've got a chemical fire." He threw the paper in his hand down on the desk in front of Barbara. "This is the formula for Potassium permanganate. They killed Aaron Silver tonight, Babs."

"Oh my god." Barbara muttered, glancing at the paper Dick placed before her. She gave her head a small shake and returned to the computer, fingers flying away.

"Why would they do that? Have they killed anyone before? Why Silver? Was it an accident?" Dick's mind raced with questions. "Can you search for any mention of Silver?"

"There's an email sent to Silver. A ransom note for the hook that was stolen, just like you said." Barbara's fingers abruptly stopped. "And his name was recently deleted from—wait, why do they have this on here? A guest list for Cobblepot's benefit dinner? The thumb drive they plugged in didn't have that information."

"Silver's name is on the list?" Dick peered over her shoulder at the screen.

"It was. This is an older copy. I'll pull up the most recent one." A few clicks the screen's image to shift slightly as the old list was replaced by the current one. "Oh my god."

Dick's eyes widened. "What the fu—"

"What are you doing?" Dick whirled around to see the source of the harsh voice. Robert and Marilyn stood just a few steps inside the doorway of the room. Neither looked particularly happy.

Dick's mind was consumed with anger. He took a step toward the older couple without thinking. "Right now? Learning that you killed Aaron Silver," he hissed.

"Ric." Marilyn's voice was icy, her dark green eyes darker than usual. Her hand darted behind her back, then returned with a pistol pointed toward Dick.

Barbara quickly pulled Dick backward by the shoulder. "We're done here. We're going."

"Not yet. Who the hell are you two?" Robert's tone was low, sharp, and dangerous.

Marilyn's hand stayed steady, her pistol trained on Dick, but her eyes darted away for a moment toward the computer. "Rodger," she almost gasped, "the screen."

_Rodger? _Suddenly, all of the puzzle pieces that wouldn't quite fit together connected perfectly in Dick's mind. Of course. Robert/Rodger's eyes shot toward the computer, and his mouth went agape.

"You know that name?" Dick tensed his body as the words left his mouth. He felt Babs do the same. Like so many times before, they'd have but a moment to act.

"Who. The hell. Are you?" Robert reached behind his own back slowly.

"It doesn't matter who we are." Dick sensed that Barbara had picked up on the situation as well, coming to the same realization that Dick had. "You two, though. You're Rodger and Mary Duncan. The name on the screen in your son's."

In between a series of names in black Times New Roman, "_Henry Duncan"_ was highlighted in blue against the white background of the digital guest list. Rodger's eyes widened, and Mary's hand shook for a moment—the moment Dick and Babs had been waiting for.

They each shot forward. Step one: Barbara kicked the gun from Mary's hand. Step two: Dick jabbed a punch toward Rodger's torso. Dick's fist glanced off of Rodger's chest. Nightwing knew the feeling of striking kevlar—Rodger must have a vest on beneath his white button down.

Dick clutched his hand, and Rodger shoved him to the ground. Babs twisted her body into another kick, aimed toward Mary's shoulder, but she stepped back out of the way, and Rodger caught the off-balance Barbara, shoving her down toward Dick.

The older couple both sprinted out of the room, slamming the door closed behind them. Dick had sprung to one knee, enabling him to catch Babs before she hit the ground. He gave her a light push backward onto her feet and she returned the favor by pulling him to his own feet.

They rushed out the door and into the hall of the apartment building, just in time to see Rodger throw an object onto the ground. The hallway between the two pairs burst into flames almost instantly. The fire roared, and for a moment, Dick, Barbara, Mary, and Rodger all held eye contact with one another.

Behind the blaze, Rodger and Mary disappeared into the stairwell. Dick felt Babs' hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Man Wonder, move."

With a strong elbow, Barbara broke the glass shielding a fire extinguisher and quickly began spraying foam toward the flames, but to no effect. "Dammit. Chemical fire."

"Let's go!" This time, Dick pulled Babs away by her wrist, using his own elbow to smash the glass of a window at the end of the hall. He ushered Barbara out of the building and onto the fire escape, and pulled the fire alarm before joining her in the night air.

As his foot left the final metal step and found pavement, Nightwing felt like Robin again. Criminals escaping just out of his reach, and his body urging him to sprint after them. He could run around the building and try to find them, but they were likely long gone. "Dammit." Dick pounded his fist against the side of the apartment building and glared upwards at the smoke rising from it.

"Hey." Barbara's arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. "Hey, it's okay. They're gone, but we'll find them. We always do."

Dick turned to look into Barbara's green eyes, and thought of his partner's green eyes. A deeper, forest green than Babs, almost exactly the same as Mary. His mother. Hank's voice, so often warm and bright, but low and sharp like Rodger's when he was angry.

"It's going to be fine. We'll be fine. He'll be fine." Barbara's words were filled with confidence, lighting a fire of determination in Dick's chest.

"Okay." He nodded. "Let's get to work."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Class is back in session, and Kite has a zombie for a substitute teacher.

Hank sipped coffee from his thermos as he scanned over the article displayed on his laptop screen. It was common for people his age to visit a coffee shop such as  _ 24/7 Joe _ to do some work or reading, taking advantage of the caffeine and complimentary Wi-Fi. 

Of course, those people probably didn’t wear masks while browsing the internet or composing emails. And they likely sat at a table in the shop rather than on the roof. But Kite figured his uniform would probably disturb the peace of the customers, even with the time being 11:42 pm. 

“ _ The Oberon Collection: Inspired by a sword passed down through generations since the sixth century, Erica Redmund created these works in the style of Arthurian Legends. These pieces evoke memories of Kings and Queens, knights, quests, and magic that had been all but forgotten.” _

Hank closed the tab on the Oberon Collection and peered with binoculars across the street. Another reason he chose to sit on the roof of 24/7 Joe was to give himself a better view of the Haven Museum across the street. 

He’d been perched on the rooftop for just under two hours, and saw no signs of his kleptomaniac childhood friend. Had he been wasting his time? Had Aubrey not been casing the museum in preparation for a theft tonight? Could she have just been visiting the museum because of an interest in art? Was it even her he saw at the museum today? He’d never even seen her face. 

_ Stellar work, Detective Kite. _ He’d been quick to trust his gut instinct, following a hunch without enough hard evidence to back it up. Kite exhaled an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose through his mask. 

His hand shot to his pocket as his phone buzzed. He whipped it out and glanced at the screen. 

_ “What are you doing two weeks from now?”  _

A message from Elizabeth Carter. Hank chuckled to himself as he tapped a response.

_ “You know I’m not capable of planning that far ahead.” _

_ “Great. My family’s going to a fancy benefit dinner, and you’re my date.” _

Hank shook his head with a small smile. Liz was naturally a tough person to tell “no.” When she was unwilling to take “no” for an answer, it was basically impossible. 

_ “Sounds good.” _

“Yo.” Hank whirled around to face the voice behind him, his heart pounding in surprise. “Easy, kid. Chill. It’s just me, your old buddy Red Hood.” A man in charcoal armor and a brown jacket carefully stepped toward Kite, pulling a red hood back behind his head to reveal dark hair and a red domino mask. “Nice to meet you.”

Hank slowly took one hand off the escrima stick strapped to his back, and the other out of the wingding pouch in his belt. “Does every... Bat-person just suck at first impressions?” 

“Sorry kid, didn’t mean to spook you. Like I said—Red Hood—nice to meet you.” The Red Hood offered his hand, which Hank reluctantly shook. “Dick told you I was coming, right?

“Who’s Dick? Don’t you wear a helmet—or whatever that thing is called?” Hank eyed Red Hood carefully as folded his laptop and put it in his bag.

“Relax, man. We’re on the roof of a two-story building. No one’s listening to us. Dick Grayson, A.K.A. Nightwing asked me, Red Hood, A.K.A. Jason Todd, to take you—Kite—Hank Duncan—on a little field trip.” Red Hood, or Jason, spoke as casually as if they were old friends meeting inside the coffee shop. He pulled his hood back over his head, further obscuring his countenance. 

“Okay, you made your point, dude.” Hank pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to wince at the mention of his real name while in uniform. 

“And as for the helmet… Well, I’m sort of rebranding. I’ll tell you on the way, come on, we’re on a tight schedule.” Jason took a step back and disappeared below the ledge of the roof. Hank quickly jogged to the ledge, seeing Red Hood slip into the driver’s seat of a sleek black car.

Kite glanced over his shoulder toward the museum. He felt the urge to continue his stakeout, but he still had no idea if Aubrey would even show up. He shook his head and leapt off the roof. 

_ Field trip it is. _

* * *

She couldn’t tell whether or not she had been in the church building before until she inhaled through her nose. 

Aubrey had heard once before that smell is the sense most closely associated with memory, and right now, it that idea certainly seemed more plausible than most pop-psychology. The scent in the stale air inside the church was a mix of old carpet, candles, and wood. 

She gazed across the aisles and up at the large cross displayed on the wall—the focal point of the room.

_ “Do you believe any of this stuff, Henry?” The room was filled with chatter, but nevertheless, her brother’s words came under his breath. Jared was naturally cautious _ — _ compared to other ten year old boys, he was like a practiced politician. Patient, careful, never one to say or do too much, always leaving people wanting more. _

_ “Honestly, I’m not sure, J.” It was rare that Henry Duncan paused like this, even for a brief moment, when giving a response.  _

_ After being around him almost constantly for the past two years, Aubrey knew that a pause such as this one meant Hank had everything figured out in his head, but he was searching for the proper combination of words to weave his thoughts together for someone else to understand. _

_ “... I guess I’d like to believe it. There are lots of nice ideas in there. ‘Love thy neighbor’, ‘thou shalt not kill’… Seems great, I guess. But there are definitely things I have questions about. Like that guy who got eaten by a whale.” _

_ “It wasn’t a whale, Hank. It was just a big fish.” Tanner Duncan was as sweet and polite as a nine year old boy could be, but he didn’t always have the most patience for errors. With his brother, especially, there was no reason to censor his corrections. _

_ “Okay, well then that’s even less likely.” A roll of the eyes toward his younger brother. “I’m also confused why everyone is so positive that it’s a ‘Heavenly Father’ and not a mother. I mean how do they  _ know _ ?” Hank flashed a look toward Aubrey.  _

_ The motion was fast and subtle, just a slight quirk of the mouth and a tiny raise of the left eyebrow, but Aubrey had seen Henry make the face many times. The face that said ‘Pretty funny, huh?’ but didn’t give you time to answer. _

_ “What about you, Aubrey? What do you think of all this?” Aubrey’s eyes were on the ceiling, midway through their roll in response to Hank, but she knew without looking that Tanner’s own curious gray eyes must be trained on her. His ability to maintain eye contact would’ve been intimidating if it were not so clearly sincere in its desire to pay attention, to soak up whatever was in front of them. _

_ “I think… Whatever the church believes is small potatoes compared to the new beds they’re giving us. Now I’m going to the snack table over there to secure as many cookies as I can hold. Who’s with me?” _

Aubrey’s eyes drifted toward the wall where the table was set up on that day, but like nearly everything else that used to be in this building, it hadn’t been there for a long time. At least, it was safe to assume that. John wouldn’t have chosen this as a meeting place unless it had been abandoned for years.

“Hmm. It’s not like them to be late.” John checked his watch and glanced toward Aubrey. “I certainly hope they don’t plan to keep us waiting for long.”

“Apologies, John. Lots of ways to get distracted in Gotham.” The door had swung open just as John was finishing his sentence. The sandy-haired man wore a tight smile on his face, obscured slightly by stubble. 

The dark haired woman with the blonde man took a step around him, green eyes flashing as they honed in on Aubrey. “Who are you?” 

“Robert. Marilyn.” John’s tone was measured, his words slow. “This is Aubrey. She’s with me.”

“We’re not in a terribly trusting mood, right now, John,” Marilyn snapped as she wiped a dark smudge from her forehead. Was that soot? The aromas of smoke and cinders had mixed in with the overall scent of the church.

“I can see that. But I trust the girl with my life. Meaning since we started working together, I’ve also trusted her with  _ yours, _ ” John replied coolly. “Like you said, Gotham can be a…  _ distracting  _ place. I wanted to bring some backup in case any distractions came along.”

“Enough banter—we understand. And there are more important things to worry about right now. Things that dictate changing our plans.” Rodger put a hand on Marilyn’s shoulder, holding his hazel gaze steady with John’s. “The two who gave us info on the mob businesses were snooping around in one of our safehouses. They can’t be trusted.”

“Really? Aubrey, has any information on some of your more recent targets been false?” John’s voice remained cool, calm and collected as he looked towards Aubrey. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. 

“No. All the names, numbers, dates, times and locations were accurate, as far as I know.” Aubrey habitually clasped her hands behind her back, brushing against her tunic, easily within reach of any equipment she might need. 

“If they were trying to sabotage you, why would they give you good information?” John inquired thoughtfully. 

“What matters is not  _ why _ , but how we adjust. They know about Aaron Silver. We need to deal with those who are not cooperating in a different way,” Marilyn paused for a moment and looked at Rodger, “And we may need to alter the final plan. We’ve discovered an issue with the guest list.”

* * *

“This is gonna rock.” Jason had a slightly worrisome smile on his face as he continued to floor it down the dirt road. Rockton, the rural county to the west of Bludhaven, was not a place Hank had visited often, except for once or twice to go hiking with Scott. Over the roar of the engine, he heard the low whistle of a train. 

“So Batgirl and I stopped a mob hit, and you and I are robbing a train.” Kite watched through the windshield as the road bent in a curve to line up parallel with the train tracks. In the rearview mirror, he caught the sight of the train’s lights approaching behind them. 

“That’s right, kid. Got a problem with that?” Red Hood pushed a button on the console, and the roof of the convertible folded back with a low whirring sound. The wind of the night ripped apart the still air around Hank’s ears. Hood tilted the steering wheel gently, adjusting their course to be within a few feet of the train tracks. “Ready?!” He called loudly over the wind.

“Not even a little bit!” Hank gritted his teeth as he shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hood press another button on the console, and the car gradually slowed down, allowing the train to catch up to them before accelerating again to match the speed of the train. 

“Kid, trust me, this is no big deal. I’ve done my homework for this. The jump is four feet. You can make it easy.” Red Hood unhooked his seatbelt and slowly began to stand on his seat, gripping the top of the windshield for stability. “We may be going sixty miles an hour, but so is the train, so it will just be like jumping between two buildings. Both standing still.” 

At this point, the jump was only the first in a list of concerns Hank was developing. “Aren’t we more in the business of  _ stopping  _ train robbers? And you never even told me  _ why _ we’re robbing the train!” Hank joined Hood in standing on their seats. 

“This is Robin training, Hank. Rule number one of being Robin is trusting Batman. Or in this case,  _ me. _ ” Hood called over his shoulder as he tensed his body, bending his legs in preparation to jump. The storage car they were aligned with was devoid of people to question why two men in masks were jumping onto the train. “Rule number two is knowing when to break the rules!”

As the words left his mouth, Hood leapt from the car to the train. Time seemed to slow down as he floated through the air, stretching his arms out to grab the railing on top of the car. His hands found purchase and he used his feet to kick himself off the side of the train car and onto its roof. Hank saw his mouth open but couldn’t hear him say anything. He was pretty sure it was something along the lines of “ _ Your turn.” _

Hank moved to the front seat, putting one foot on top of the car door and gripping the windshield for support. He stared down the train car in front of him, took a deep breath, tensed his body, and exhaled forcefully as he released the tension and sprung forward. Time slowed once more. He reached out his arms, but he could already tell his jump was off. 

Jason Todd was maybe two inches taller than Dick, meaning he was maybe four inches taller than Hank. Kite’s arms were not long enough to grab the railing. He twisted his body to thrust his left shoulder upward and reach as high as he could with one hand. His left hand gripped the railing, and his body hit the side of the train car with a thud. 

He gritted his teeth and heard a grunt escape his lips as his left hand began to open in response to the impact. He had just begun to feel himself falling when two strong hands grabbed his forearm roughly, and he was yanked up onto the train car. 

Jason let out a joyous whoop as Hank groaned, lying prone on the car’s roof for a moment before pushing himself slowly up. “What’d I tell you? Rule number one: trust me.”

“Thanks, Hood.” Hank muttered, rubbing his left shoulder gingerly as he stood up. 

“No problem. Don’t worry, kid, I’m not gonna let anything happen to ya. With you around, I get to call Batman  _ grandpa _ .” Hood chuckled to himself, and Hank’s lips curled into a half smile. Sure, he had maybe just almost died, but Jason did seem to know what he was doing. 

Kite followed as Red Hood jogged across the top of the train cars toward the back of the train, taking small, controlled leaps between cars. “You were half right, earlier,” Red Hood shouted over his shoulder, “We  _ are _ technically robbing this train, but we’re  _ also _ stopping smugglers from getting a shipment of experimental weapons into Metropolis.”

“Experimental weapons?” Hank’s eyes widened behind his plumage patterned mask.

“That’s right. The kind that’s supposed to hurt Super-folks. More likely, it will just put a larger number of normal people in harm’s way, but neither option is great, so here we are.” Hood had stopped, putting his hand up to motion Kite to halt as well. “This is our entrance. Things are going to get loud. You ready?”

  
Hank adjusted his gloves and nodded. Jason nodded back with a smirk before he acrobatically flipped off the roof of the train car, gripping the railing with one hand and swinging his body feet first toward the window of the car. 

Hank followed as soon as he heard the glass shatter, diving in through the window and rolling as he hit the floor. 

The inside of the car was more spacious than he had expected, which meant more room to move. “Howdy, ladies.” Hood’s voice echoed rang out in front of Kite, who counted twelve very tall women whipping their heads toward Red Hood and himself. Hank knew he had to act quickly before the surprise wore off.

He vaulted off Jason’s shoulders and used his momentum to drive his heel into a collarbone, whirling around and whipping out an escrima stick before cracking it into a jaw. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Red Hood throw a strong left cross that connected with a dark haired woman’s cheek, dropping her quickly. 

Red Hood moved much differently than Nightwing in a fight. Though he was not quite as acrobatic, he was big, strong, and surprisingly fast. His larger frame established him as a brawler, bobbing, weaving and blocking like a boxer, before punishing with powerful blows of his own. 

Another woman shouted something in a language Hank didn’t recognize as she ran towards Hood in an attempt to tackle him, but he shook her off easily, kicking her into the wall with a loud crash. Hank blinked to refocus himself.  _ Mission. Bad guys—well, gals. _

Hank and Jason continued to fight their way toward opposite sides of the train car. The womens’ height was not their only notable feature. Their eyes were a bright, lime green, reminding Hank of slime he had seen in a movie about ghosts. 

Kite jabbed an escrima stick into the final woman on his side of the car, discharging forty thousand volts into her body before delivering a palm strike to her sternum. “Where are the guns?” Hank finally took a moment to observe the car as more than just a battleground. Other than him, Red Hood, and the women, it seemed empty.

“I got them,” Hank’s gaze fell on the back of Jason’s head as he stood up from a kneeling position and briskly walked toward him. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What? You don’t have anything in your hands? Where are the guns?” There was a high pitched repeated beeping in Hank’s ears.  _ What is that? _

“We don’t have time for this, Kite!” Jason pulled a pistol from his brown jacket, firing at the lock of the emergency exit door in the car before Hank could react to the gun. “Move!”

Red Hood’s car was right outside the train’s door, still keeping pace with the train. Hood grabbed Kite’s shoulder and positioned him in front of the door. “Jump to the back seat. Go!” 

Hank wanted to argue, but the urgency in Hood’s voice made him think better of talking back. He dove forward from the train, landing with a thud on the leather seats of the car with a grunt.  _ At least they’re softer than the train car. _

Hank saw a dark blur land in the driver’s seat in front of him, and heard the squeal of brakes as was thrown forward. Kite gripped the seatback to keep himself from getting whiplash. “Jesus, dude, what the hell are y _ — _ ”

His voice was cut off by an explosion booming across the open fields surrounding them. The train car they had just occupied had become a pillar of flame and smoke. Hank’s heart pounded in his chest. The air around him pulsed in his ears, and he heard himself say “ _ You killed them!” _

His muscles tightened with rage. It felt strange and uncomfortable to be screaming at Jason from behind, in the back of his car, but his mouth was spitting out the words before he had time to think about them. “How could you do that, Jason?! You won’t let anything happen to me, huh? You just let me become an accomplice to murder!”

“Hank.” Jason had taken off his red mask. His blue eyes were dark, but radiated sincerity. “You’re not an accomplice to murder.”

“Wha _ — _ ”

“Hank! There weren’t any guns on that train. Those women weren’t alive. They  _ were _ the experimental weapons. Androids, their entire bodies made from an alloy infused with kryptonite.” Hank’s breath caught in his throat. He was flooded with relief. “To you and me, they were just another thug to beat up, but to Superman or Supergirl, they’re assassins. Hiding in plain sight to lure them in and kill them.”

“I… I’m sorry.” He felt irritation with himself, and perhaps a bit of shame for blowing up at Jason so quickly. Tonight had been about trust, and as soon as things seemed to go awry, Hank had abandoned all trust in his substitute teacher.

“Hey, come on, kid, it’s all good. You know how many times I went off on Batman? How many shouting matches  _ Dick _ started with him?” A small smile had appeared on Jason’s face as he started the car again. “Trust goes both ways. We were supposed to trust him, but we also kept him honest. Just like you keep Dick honest. And you're keeping me honest right now. I should have been clearer about the weapons. You did good tonight, Kite.”

“Hmm. Thanks, man.” A small feeling of pride began to well in Hank’s chest. 

“Alright, time to celebrate. What’s the best dive bar in Bludhaven?”

“I’m not twenty-one, Jason.” 

“Trust me, we’ll get you in there. I have a way with bouncers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.
> 
> I have been away, busy with life, but I have returned, and actually I'm almost done with the story!
> 
> It's a lot longer than I expected to be, so I'll be uploading it as I am able, but I may not be able to get every chapter up today. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, especially if you're returning to the story after my hiatus. I realize I don't usually ask for reviews, but you're always welcome to provide feedback , even if it's just to say 'nice job' or whatever.


	9. Chapter 9

“So it went well, then?” Nightwing called to his protege as he sidestepped a punch and drove his elbow into the chest of his assailant.

“For the most part, yeah. No one died, so that’s good.” Kite faced away from his mentor as he rained a flurry of blows down on the two black-and-white-clad thugs on either side of him. Hank’s voice sounded slightly distant as it reverberated off the storage container in front of him and back to Dick’s ears. “I know that part of the lesson was about trust, but I still wish Red Hood would have told me from the beginning that we were up against robots.”

_ “Are you going to tell him?” Barbara’s words sounded clearly in Dick’s ears, but it took him a moment to understand what she said. He continued to stare at the floor of the batcave as he paced back and forth. “Dick?” _

_ “Sorry, Babs.” Dick shook his head quickly, trying to get himself to focus. “I really don’t know. I remember early on I promised myself I wasn’t going to keep secrets from him. I mean it never worked out well when you did that with me.”  _

_ Dick glanced toward Bruce for a moment, who was sitting in front of the batcomputer in a familiar pose, with his hands clasped in front of his face. _

_ “What are you thinking now?” Bruce asked. His expression did not reveal any emotion or intent either way, but his tone was decidedly gentle. _

_ “It’s different than I thought. I mean I’m training him. Giving him skills and tools to stop criminals from hurting people. It feels like I have a lot of responsibility for what he does. And if he learns that his parents are one: alive; and two: fugitives and basically terrorists, what is he going to do?” _

_ “Do you trust him?” Barbara was less gentle and less masking of her feelings. This was a pointedly rhetorical question. She  _ knew _ Dick trusted Hank, and was reminding him that he should trust his partner to handle traumatic news, even news like this, appropriately. _

_ “I do. Of course I do.” Dick pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked toward Bruce again. “What are  _ you  _ thinking?” _

_ “I want to respect your relationship with your partner, Dick. I wouldn’t want to give unwanted advice.” Bruce paused for a moment and closed his eyes. His piercing blue orbs opened and he continued, “In my own experience… You’re right that when I kept secrets from you, it caused rifts in our relationship. But whenever I kept things from you, it was because I thought doing so would keep you safe. And I believe, many times, it did.” _

_ “I’d like to offer a counterpoint, if that’s alright, sir.” Alfred’s crisp accent cut through the brief moment of silence as Dick absorbed Bruce’s words. “All three of you have lost parents. Would you not want to be told if they were alive? Regardless of what they were doing?” _

_ “Finally someone starts talking sense around here.” Barbara shook her head with a small smile. _

_ “Thank you Alfred—Thank all of you.” Dick said, offering the best smile he could muster to Alfred, despite his mind still swimming with anxiety. _

“Right.” Dick frowned as the final thug left standing attempted to run away. A wingding streaked through the air right in front of the man’s face, causing him to stop dead in his tracks. 

“Listen man, you can do the whole ‘run away’ thing, but odds aren’t really in your favor.” Hank waved a blue-gloved hand toward the halted man. “We’re both pretty quick, and we can also throw stuff at you. So, you know, it’s easier for everyone if you just stay still and talk to us.” 

Despite the nagging in the back of his mind, Dick couldn’t help but smile at his pupil, watching as he walked casually toward the man, who had wisely decided to turn around and face them with his hands high in the air. “What’s your name, guy?” 

“I’m not telling you anything. I want a lawyer.” The man’s voice didn’t waiver _ — _ appearing to radiate confidence. But his body was stiff—very clearly not making any sudden moves. Nightwing heard his partner sigh very audibly.

“Look, brother. We’re not the fuzz. No badges, no Miranda Rights—no rules in general, really.” Hank placed handcuffs on the Jed’s wrists and ankles. “And that guy over there—” Hank nodded toward Dick—”Was raised by Batman. You think just because he’s pretty he doesn’t know how to make you talk? Tell him your name, doofus.” 

“It _ — _ It’s Jed.” Now Jed spoke quickly, nervously.

“Jed, what are you and your friends doing in my city? Is Cobblepot hoping to build a vacation nest here?” Nightwing folded his arms across his chest.

Jed swallowed before answering. “We were just moving some supplies here to fence them. That’s it! I swear!” 

Nightwing’s jaw set below his mask. “Alright, Jed. You’d better just wait here for the police, or you’ll be easy for us to find. You look ridiculous in those cuffs.”

Hank and Dick grappled up to the roof of the nearby power plant before Dick finally blurted out the words he’d been dreading all night. “We need to talk.”

“Boy, that sounds dramatic.” Hank’s eyebrows rose just slightly above his mask. “What’s up?”

“Hank, you know Aaron Silver, the man we interrogated at the casino a few nights back? The one who was found dead in his apartment after a fire?” Hank nodded his head at Dick’s words. “He was murdered, Hank. The fire wasn’t caused by accident.”

“What? Really? Do you know who did it?” 

“I do. That’s what I’ve been working on while you’ve been getting your lessons from the rest of the bat-fam.” Dick paused for a moment, looking away from Kite’s face and out over the city skyline. “The people who set the fire… I had my suspicions at first, but figured I was just being paranoid. But the other night, I found out I was right.”

“Di—Nightwing.” Hank caught himself. “What’s the matter? Why are you so worked up about this?”   
  


“Your parents set the fire, Hank. They’re alive. Rodger and Mary Duncan killed Aaron Silver. They’ve been responsible for fires all along the east coast, even the one that supposedly killed them.” Dick looked back toward his young partner, his face contorted in discomfort. “I’m sorry, Hank.”

Hank’s expression was tough to make out behind his mask. His lips were pursed tightly, and he didn’t move for a few moments. Dick would have given anything for him to say something to break the silence. He wasn’t sure what to expect from his protege. He clenched and unclenched his fists in anticipation. 

An eternity passed, possibly multiple eternities, before Hank pulled his phone out from a pocket of his belt. He glanced at it quickly, his expression finally changing to a small frown as he tilted his head slightly. “I gotta go. Real life stuff, not superhero stuff.” 

Dick watched in disbelief and confusion as his partner shot his grapple out across the rooftops and swung away into the night air.

* * *

Hank approached the burgundy door of the Carters’ brownstone apartment. Liz’s text said her parents were away in Metropolis visiting a property her mother was developing, but he still felt the urge to keep quiet with his knocking, as it was 1:17 in the morning. 

He tapped his knuckles on the dark red wood three times, paused, and then gave a fourth knock. The door opened quickly, only a small amount, and a hand reached out to usher him inside.

Liz’s hasty closing of the door wasn’t exactly a  _ slam _ , but it was certainly audible within the apartment walls. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m not a child, Henry.” Liz’s tone was curt as she locked and deadbolted the door. “I’m not a damsel in distress who needs you to save her. I’m just positive that I saw someone following me on my way home, and living alone on the ground level is statistically unsafe for women.” 

Liz spun on her heel to face him, her jaw set and her eyes dark with intensity. Hank felt a smile crawl across his face. “Of course, Elizabeth. I had no intention of implying you were a… damsel. I should have phrased my question differently: How are you doing?” 

Liz’s pursed lips quirked a bit, and she stepped forward to pull him into a hug. “Thank you for coming, Hank,” she said quietly. Hank pushed the thought of her blonde hair smelling like strawberries to the back of his head to join a cluster of other ideas he needed to avoid thinking about at the moment. “I’m sorry I snapped—to be honest I  _ am  _ a little bit freaked out.”

“Hey, if I thought someone was stalking me I’d be freaked out, too. What did he look like?” Hank gripped Liz’s shoulders firmly, hoping to reassure her. 

“I’m not sure, exactly. I don’t even know if it was a ‘ _ he _ ’.” Liz turned away and walked toward the tall grandfather clock next to the fireplace. “For the first few blocks I could see a glimpse of someone wearing a hood over my shoulder, but once I got past Fourth Street, I couldn’t see anyone.”

“Fourth Street…” Hank mused, pulling a curtain just slightly to peer out the nearby window.  _ The divide between Liz’s residential borough, Temper Park, and the financial district.  _

“I still felt something—you know, tingling on the back of my neck—like someone was following me,” Liz paused, “I wonder if… My parents have been talking about burglaries happening to their friends. Someone breaking in to steal valuables, a lot of times family heirlooms, just in the last few days. They said ten or twelve of their friends had made discreet police reports.” 

Hank’s eyes widened as he turned back to Liz. What she described sounded awfully familiar—but twelve jobs in just a few days—how was Aubrey moving so fast? 

“What do you think someone would want to steal from—” Hank frowned, a realization coming over him. “The rooftops. You didn’t see her past Fourth street because she was able to travel on rooftops of Temper Park where the buildings are shorter.”

“She? How do you know she’s a she?” Liz questioned, her face puzzled.

“Just a hunch, I guess. Something I read online about a local cat burglar sighting,” Hank muttered quickly, furrowing his brow and cursing himself for carelessly thinking out loud. 

“So you  _ did  _ know about people getting valuables stolen?” Liz had folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. Briefly, a frightening thought passed through Hank’s mind.  _ She knows.  _ But there was no real reason to suspect that Liz knew anything about his night job. He hadn’t done anything to incriminate himself. “I guess you’re already on the case, huh?”

_ What?  _ “What?” Hank did a double take. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on, Henry. You know me. I’m going to NYU to study  _ vigilante psychology. _ ” Liz said quietly, stepping toward him.  _ This isn’t happening.  _

“Look, Liz, I saw some stuff on Twitter about a Bludhaven cat burglar. I’m not  _ investigating. _ ” Hank shook his head and laughed quietly, immediately regretting acting so condescendingly to his friend. “And I don’t dress up in a costume and beat up muggers.” Another pause. He hated lying. “Anyway, maybe you should call the police.”

Liz frowned and grabbed her laptop from the couch, opening it swiftly and plunking at the keyboard. She looked at the screen and read aloud: “Nightwing’s sidekick—”  _ Sidekick? Ouch. _ “Kite—Was first sighted a month ago. Is described by witnesses as six foot, caucasian, dirty blonde hair, roughly 160 pounds.” She looked back up to Hank, her narrowed blue eyes giving him a deliberately slow once once over. 

Hank opened his mouth to continue to  _ deny, deny, deny _ , but the sound of glass shattering in the other room interrupted him. His body’s response was automatic, three quick steps toward the kitchen, his eyes spotting and processing the scene before him. 

A broken window, a lithe figure clad in brown leather garb, with a hood covering their face.  _ Her face. _

She was startled by his sudden appearance. Hank sprung forward again, not thinking about if she recognized him; no playful banter rising from his throat. This was not a fun night of superheroing with Nightwing. This was his friend’s— _ well, something like that _ —home. 

He feinted a right cross, and Aubrey fell for it, stepping to his right and sacrificing her balance to avoid the punch.  _ No, not Aubrey.  _ As Hank hooked her left leg with his right, he realized this was not his old friend, though they seemed to shop at the same stores. 

Her frame was similar, tall and slender like a dancer, but her body language was different. Clearly not as confident or as skilled as Aubrey. Hank suspected that loudly shattering the glass window wasn’t part of the plan, nor was having to deal with a part-time vigilante. 

He brought her to the ground, his body still on auto pilot, his right arm barring across her neck, his left hand pulling her arm behind her back.  _ Is this a copycat burglar? Is that even a thing? _

“What are you here for?” Hank hissed into the young woman’s ear. Something platinum blonde flashed in his peripheral vision. His eyes darted upward, taking in Liz Carter standing in the kitchen doorway, bright blue eyes  _ very _ wide.

_Shit._ _That’s what you get for acting and not thinking, Duncan._ _How do you explain this?_ His internal argument took just enough of his attention away for the young girl’s hand to get free. Before Hank could react, an elbow hit his stomach hard, and dark smoke filled the air around him, burning his eyes.

Hank wheezed, covering his mouth and nose with his black tee shirt. He heard his name in Liz’s voice, and he stumbled toward the sound. 

He emerged from the smoke, and Liz started to grab for his hands, but he pulled away, coughing hard. “Sorry,” He choked out. “I have to—” he was interrupted by another coughing fit.

“You have to go.” The image of Liz was shimmering like a heat mirage through his bleary eyes. Something was pressed into his hands. His bag. “I’m not going to say ‘be careful’.”

Hank half-coughed and half-laughed as he stepped toward the shattered window. He should have known better than to try and keep secrets from Elizabeth Carter. The smoke had cleared, and he glimpsed the young woman’s silhouette against the dim glow of the city lights. 

“We can, uh… Talk about this later.” He muttered as he leapt out the window.  _ Smooth as ever, Hank. _

* * *

Aubrey gazed out at the Bludhaven skyline against the background of the coast. The buildings here were vastly different from those in her hometown. Gotham had its share of neon signs and bright lights, but they were contained within Amusement Mile and the Cauldron, and generally associated with seedy, crime-infested areas. 

Compared to Gotham’s dreary, dark, and—well, gothic—architecture, it was like there was a carnival all throughout the city of Bludhaven. Casinos, various business districts, the neighborhoods and boroughs, the boardwalk, the ports… All of it was always infected with some amount of dim light. 

Of course, she also had a love for the foreboding towers, bridges, and tunnels of Gotham. The rooftop she stood on reminded her of a similar one in Burnside. A brand new apartment complex, filled with young adults who were successful enough to afford it, or had their rent paid by their parents. A mix of the gothic-revival styles Gotham was famous for, and some new age Frank Lloyd Wright details to draw in the people full of youth and full of pocket. 

Aubrey’s architectural musings were interrupted by a familiar, annoying buzzing. She snatched the small burner phone from a pocket in her cloak and flipped it open. “Yes?”

“I need help!” The voice on the phone was urgent, followed by several shallow breaths. Clearly Kiera was getting a workout in. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I screwed up! Some guy was at my mark, and he caught me as soon as I got in. He moved so fast, and I was startled because I accidentally shattered the window—”

“Kiera. Stop. less talking, more breathing and running. He’s following you, right?” Aubrey turned her back to the coast and glared southwest, across the financial district and toward the Temper Borough.

“Yeah.” Kiera was still sucking in breath, but sounded calmer than before. Aubrey shook her head. she had a feeling something like this would happen. Too many moving parts tonight—too many jobs and not enough experience. 

“Stay on Metro Road and keep running. You’re going to cut through the Dexter Lofts building on Ninth Street—the fifth floor, third window from the left. It’s open. Close it behind you and hideout until I call you. I’ll take care of your tail.”

“Almost there!” Upon hearing Kiera’s reply, Aubrey was just able to glimpse a lithe silhouette bounding across the rooftops to the southwest. Another silhouette, slightly larger, was following, about forty yards behind. 

Aubrey reached into her right boot to retrieve a hook before leaping off the apartment building’s roof, catching the hook on the zipline she had set up there previously for her escape. She landed with a graceful roll on the Dexter Lofts’ rooftop, then sprinted ahead. 

She stopped short at the edge of the loft rooftop, a few stories higher than the roof where Kiera fire her own zipline into the window Aubrey had left open and take a running start to slide down the line. 

As she disappeared from Aubrey’s view, Aubrey shifted her gaze toward the shadow following her. Her eyes briefly widened in surprise, but then she shook her head. Perhaps she should have known Kiera’s issues would be the fault of the masked blonde boy. 

‘Kite’ was dressed differently tonight, not in his brown and blue kevlar uniform, but civilian clothes. A tee shirt and jeans, both blacker than Bludhaven’s neon-tinted night sky. As before, he looked vaguely familiar, but his offwhite mask prevented any possibility of Aubrey recognizing him past that.

Taking three steps backward and timing herself carefully, she took a running leap through the air, colliding with the very surprised Kite before she could hit the rooftop itself and risk injuring herself. 

“Oof!” The young man grunted as the pair tumbled across the concrete. They both got up quickly, and when Aubrey’s eyes found his face again, there was no trace of the near-permanent half smile he wore during their previous encounter. A grimly set jaw and pursed lips moved only to bark: “So there are two of you?”

Aubrey almost felt concerned for the absence of the good-natured banter, but she had to stay focused on helping Kiera get away. “Sure, why not?” Without thinking, she had pitched her voice into the confident, airy tone she used when talking to a man with an expensive watch. 

“Why are you trying to steal from George and Elaine Carter?” Kite’s face remained hard. Aubrey made a mental note that her previous exit strategy may not be as effective tonight.

“It’s really as simple as them being wealthy and having expensive things.” Apparently the young man was not aware of the real reason for Kiera’s visit to the Carter residence. Kite lunged forward faster than Aubrey could anticipate, and as she attempted to sidestep him, he caught one of her shoulders and bent her right arm behind her back.

“Stay away—”  _ THOOOOM.  _ A booming crash of sound drowned out whatever Kite was going to say next, and Aubrey’s eyes widened in fear as orange flames bloomed from the Dexter Lofts. Specifically from the fifth floor, the third window from the left.

* * *

“I’m afraid there’s been a change in your plans, Cobblepot.” Generally, Nightwing tried to put at least a small edge in his tone when speaking to criminals. At the moment, the edge came hard and without much effort on his part. 

On top of everything else that Dick had to deal with over the past few days, the Penguin was in  _ his  _ city. A known criminal—and frankly, Dick’s least favorite class of crook. 

For years, Oswald Cobblepot conducted his illegal operations practically in the public eye of Gotham. His old money bought him many of the politicians and police officers who should have been trying to stop him from stealing from the hard working people of Gotham. Instead, he was almost a local celebrity. 

In his time as Robin, Dick and Batman had thwarted many off-the-books sales of drugs, weapons, or any sort of stolen goods. However, in most cases, the Penguin was always too far removed from the incidents to pin the crimes on him. In many instances where there  _ was _ enough evidence to warrant a trial, the portion of the District Attorney’s office in Cobblepot’s pocket let him off with warnings, fines, or minimum sentences.

“I assure you, boy, I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor what you’re doing here.” Cobblepot’s thick cockney accent had allegedly developed while he attended finishing school across the pond, but Nightwing had heard many murmurs and whispers from his thugs about the accent being a facade to seem more aristocratic.

At some point, Penguin ‘went straight’. He claimed to focus purely on his Iceberg Lounge to garner money and power. Of course, the lounge attracted just as many of Gotham’s corrupt elite as it did law abiding citizens. 

Furthermore, Nightwing and Kite had still found a pack of his goons trying to smuggle stolen goods into Bludhaven just a few hours prior. And to top it all off, Oswald was here, on the roof of the Blud Harbor Hotel.

“For one, whatever meeting you have planned here, is canceled, and so is your ‘ _ benefit dinner _ ’.” Dick’s voice was low, steady, and all business. No lighthearted Robin quips entered his mind. 

“Is that so?  _ Nightwing _ prefers that I cancel an event to raise money for the Cobblepot Foundation? A charity organization that provides educational scholarships to underprivileged children all over the eastern seaboard?” As per usual, Cobblepot’s came in a constant sneer. Condescending, holier-than-thou, desperately trying to convince his audience that he was better than them. “What do the kids say these days? ‘ _ Not a good look _ ’ for your brand, Boy Wonder.”

Dick stood up from his crouched position on the edge of the rooftop, taking a few steps toward the Penguin. As Robin, Cobblepot was the first criminal he was able to look down on. Dick was twelve when he surpassed the five-foot-two man in height. Of course, the original Robin also knew better than anyone not to underestimate someone based on their size.

“Come on, Os. You’ve known me a long time. Between the two of us, who does the media like more?” Nightwing allowed himself a small smirk as he spoke. Best not to go too  _ Batman _ too fast. “And to think,  _ I _ didn’t have to spend a dime on them.”

“I’m afraid even threats from the great Nightwing will not impair my passion for educating the young and needy.” If nothing else came from tonight, provoking Cobblepot’s angry growl and scrunched up face was one tally in the win-column for Dick. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I was hoping to enjoy a peaceful evening.”

“Here’s the deal, Penguin. I don’t know exactly what, how, or why, but someone has plans for your benefit dinner. Maybe you even know about them.” Dick took another step forward toward Penguin, his face now devoid of the usual Nightwing smirk. The back of his mind displayed an image of Hank’s name on the guest list. “I  _ do _ know they’re the kind of plans that could get people hurt. And I’m not going to let that happen. I guarantee that if something goes down at  _ your _ event, it will  _ not _ be a good look for the Cobblepot brand. And on top of that you’ll have me to deal with.”

This wasn’t even close to the Penguin’s first rodeo—he wouldn’t be intimidated as easily as his hired help, Jed, was earlier that night. The HUD of Dick’s mask showed no change in his heartbeat. “As much as you might wish otherwise, boy, I’m here in Bludhaven on business.  _ Legal _ business. As in not breaking any laws. And my benefit dinner will be equally legal.” 

“For someone doing ‘ _ legal _ ’ business, you have a lot of pictures of stolen valuables on your hard drive,” Nightwing shot back.

“Once again, I’ve no idea what you mean. And even if I did have such pictures, obtaining them without a warrant would absolutely not hold up in a court of law.” Cobblepot removed his monocle momentarily to clean it with his pocket handkerchief, and turned his back to Dick.

Dick clenched his teeth and began to step toward Penguin’s line of sight, but before he opened his mouth to speak, he heard a muffled crunch of gravel behind him. Nightwing turned his shoulders as he vaulted forward, gracefully springing off the cement with his hands and landing facing his assailant. 

A tall, lean figure loomed behind him wearing brown leather armor and a gray hooded cloak. A very similar uniform to the thief Nightwing caught a glimpse of in the Silver Lining Casino, but the person before him had the body of a full grown man, not a young woman as Hank had described. 

Nightwing’s eyes narrowed behind the whiteout lens of his domino mask as he caught sight of a small dagger in the left hand of the hooded man. The stolen valuables on Penguin’s computer and this thief’s appearance couldn’t be a coincidence. 

“Who are you?” Dick barked the question out of habit, and received no answer. Not one of the more eccentric villains with a pathological need for their name to rise to infamy.

Instead, the man shot forward, swiping the dagger at Dick without warning. Nightwing leaned back to avoid the blade, dropping his weight and twisting while extending his leg to trip the man. 

Nightwing’s attacker was ready, rolling gracefully over his back and slashing across his ribs, the blade cutting through a chink in the former Boy Wonder’s black and blue armor. Dick winced in pain and surprise at the man’s expertise, as his attacker came out of the roll behind him and attempted to stab forward with the dagger. Nightwing deflected with the staves on his gauntlet, knocking the dagger from the man’s hand. 

Dick took advantage of the man’s surprise with two quick jabs to his torso. The blows glanced off the leather armor, but they served their purpose to hold the man’s attention as Nightwing whirled into a roundhouse kick.

As Nightwing’s heel connected with the hooded man’s right shoulder, his hood was knocked off, revealing short, jet black hair and hard blue eyes. The lower half of the man’s face was covered by a mask, but from what Dick could see, his face was reminiscent of paintings of European royalty. 

The man stood up straight once again after recovering from the kick, and raised a hand into the air. Suddenly, half a dozen cloaked figures appeared in a half circle around Nightwing, swinging in on grapples, sliding down ziplines, or climbing up from the edge of the roof.

“You’re outnumbered, but we don’t need to hurt you. Leave us to speak with Mr. Cobblepot.” The dark-haired man’s voice was icy as he pulled his hood back over his head. 

“Are you kidding?  _ You  _ attacked  _ me _ , Lord of the Rings _ . _ ” Dick spat as he felt the sliced skin around his ribs throb. He glanced over to Penguin, who stood with his arms folded, watching with pursed lips. Nightwing glowered as he briefly assessed the situation. 

The figures around him were all smaller than the taller leader. Were they children? Maybe Hank’s age? Even injured as he was, he’d faced worse odds than this, but this renaissance-fair-gang was probably better trained than the mooks who acted as muscle for Penguin or Two-Face.

A loud, shrill beeping burst out from Nightwing’s wrist. “Ah shit.” He muttered aloud as he gave his gauntlet two swift taps. “Oh no.” 

Dick didn’t have time to look back, tapping his gauntlet again to signal his motorcycle as he sprinted to the edge of the roof and leapt into the night air. All the while, a message flashed in bright red on his mask’s HUD.

_ ‘KITE: VITALS CRITICAL’. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Thirteen Minutes Ago.**

A year ago, upon seeing a large explosion erupt out of a nearby apartment complex, Henry Duncan would probably have run away and maybe called nine-one-one. However, since he had met Nightwing, Hank’s first thought when seeing such a disaster was more like:  _ I have to get in there. _

Though his ears were ringing from the explosion, he heard a vague shout from the young woman next to him as released her from his grip in order to open his backpack. He fished around for what felt like ages before finding a rebreather mask, and then another. 

He put one mask on and extended his arm to hand the other to Aubrey, who was standing still, staring at the building. “Hey!” Hank snapped. “Get it together. Are you coming or not?”

Every passing second meant less oxygen, more fire and smoke, and more people in danger. There was no time to wait around for Aubrey—luckily she snatched the rebreather from his hand and strapped it on, her silver eyes glinting with determination. 

Hank nodded silently and fired his grapple toward the top of the Dexter Lofts. He aimed for a window in the middle of the building, one window to the right of the origin of the explosion. As he swung, he retrieved two small pellets from his belt, flinging them in front of him.

The pellets exploded into a yellowish foam that corroded the window in front of him in a matter of seconds, allowing for a smooth entrance. Aubrey’s landing next to him was inaudible, but he felt a soft vibration as she gracefully set her own feet down. 

The room was already filled with smoke and embers, pouring out from a large hole in the wall made by the explosion in the adjoining room. Kite dashed forward and dove through the hole, rolling as he landed and staying low to the ground to avoid the smoke. 

Bright orange flames licked at every corner of the room, blurring his vision even through his mask. As Aubrey appeared over his shoulder, Hank reached into his belt again, this time throwing three small black orbs, which hissed as they landed in front of him, spewing a white bubbling foam that grew and absorbed a small portion of the blaze.

“Kiera!” Kite heard Aubrey’s voice to the side of him as she brushed past his shoulder in a blur. The liquid nitrogen capsules that Nightwing had told him about did little more than make a small dent in the fire, but it did help to make his vision a bit clearer.

Aubrey was crouched on a section of tile floor that was untouched by the flames, attempting to lift the remains of a large granite table. Hank leapt over a stretch of fire and crouched on the other side of the table’s remains, opposite of Aubrey.

“On three,” Aubrey shouted over the roar of the fire. “One, two, three!”

Kite squeezed his core tight and drove his heels into the floor, extending his legs with a grunt and miraculously feeling the tabletop lift from the ground. Underneath the rubble, the young woman he had met in Liz’s brownstone lay unmoving. 

Kiera’s forehead had a nasty gash in it, and her skin had turned red from the heat of the room. Hank and Aubrey shoved the table to the side, and Hank hoisted her onto his shoulder with another grunt, though luckily the girl wasn much lighter than the table.

“Got a pulse.” Hank said quickly as he removed his fingers from her throat and used his free hand to take his rebreather off so he could place it on the unconscious young girl. He marched forward, quickly realizing he would not have to kick the apartment door open because the entire door was gone, replaced by a flame-lined gap in the apartment’s drywall. 

He jogged out of the hole carefully, using his free arm to cover his mouth. The fire had spread down the hallway a ways, but the sprinkler system had activated, mitigating the damage. Staying careful not to jostle Kiera around too much over his shoulder, Hank made it to the stairwell door, away from the flames but still clouded with smoke. 

Aubrey took Kiera into her arms as soon as Kite set her down, and he paused for a moment to make sure both of the women were alright before spinning on his heel and running back toward the blaze. 

As Hank was running, another loud  _ BOOM _ sounded from the apartment he was just in. He quickened his pace to a sprint, coughing lightly into his arm as he leapt back into the inferno. The apartment’s water heater had exploded due to the heat and pressure, revealing a large hole in the floor. 

Though he felt the echo of the explosion reverberating through his ears, Kite managed to hear a weak cry below him. He dropped through the hole, passing through a blossom of smoke. He ignored the coughing fit his body was thrust into as he made his way toward the soft sobs he heard. 

A small boy sat in the corner of the room, his face buried into his arms, which were wrapped tightly around his knees. The flames hadn’t yet reached the corner where the boy sat. 

“Hey!” Kite called to the young blonde boy. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than six, raised his blonde head, revealing brown eyes glistening with tears and a face dark with soot. The boy cried out again upon seeing Hank, and his limbs flailed desperately in an attempt to push himself further into the corner away from Hank.

Hank thought of Tanner, and his stomach knotted up. Then he remembered his brother’s story about being saved from a shootout in a convenience store by Batman and Robin. 

_ “Jared and I were scared, but Robin was very nice. He said Batman would get the shooters, and he would take care of us. Jared kept freaking out, so he took of his mask to show us he was just a kid like us.”  _

Even in the midst of a disaster, Hank’s mouth turned up into a soft smile. He was still learning from Dick even when he wasn’t around, and he was still learning from Tanner as well, even about the superhero gig. Hank peeled off his white mask, wincing slightly at the spirit gum coming off his face. 

“It’s okay!” Hank held up his hands in a gesture of peace to the young boy. “My name’s Hank. What’s your name?” 

The boy’s brown eyes widened as he stammered. “I—i—it’s Josh.” 

“Hi, Josh.” Hank tried to put all the warmth he could into his tone. “Can you come with me? I want to get you out of here.” 

Josh nodded, and Hank scooped him up quickly over his shoulder, crouching as he walked through the flames. Kite’s lungs felt completely empty, and his vision was blurring more every second, but he pushed away the dizziness as he coughed his way through the room. 

The door to Josh’s apartment was still intact, but Hank knew before reaching for the doorknob that it would be blazing hot to the touch. He took as deep a breath he could, mostly inhaling smoke. 

“Hold your breath and hold onto me tight, okay, Josh?” Hank managed to get the words out between coughs. He put all the force he could into his kick, and as his foot met the door he felt a very hard pinch in his ankle.

The door gave way nonetheless, and Hank had to ignore the pain for the moment as he adjusted Josh quickly to be wrapped in his arms at his torso rather than over his shoulder. Just as Hank knew, the door opening caused a backdraft, resulting in the fire roaring to new life behind him.

The force of the blaze pushed him, and Hank stumbled forward through the doorway. Between his vision, his ankle, and his lungs, Hank was not sure how he was still standing at the moment, other than his determination to make sure this young boy made it out of the inferno. 

He felt water coming down on him from above, and did his best to move with Josh away from the blurry orange blobs to his right. Large white spots obscured his view, his throat was dry and scratchy, and his ankle was  _ very _ unhappy with him continuing to put weight on it. 

Suddenly, despite all his desire to get Josh away from the fire, his body stopped listening to him. He heard a high pitched beeping echoing from his midsection. His belt? He felt an arm wrap around his waist as the blurred world around him finally faded into a sheet of white static.

* * *

**NOW.**

Dick remembered being outraged when he found out about a tracking chip that Bruce had implanted in his arm. Even though the tracker allowed Batman to save him when he had been caught off guard by Bane while on solo patrol, Dick felt that his privacy was violated, as well as his trust.

However, since then Dick recalled many instances when he wore the cowl with Damian at his side, where he was grateful for the ability to find the tenacious (if not pigheaded) Robin. With Hank, Dick proposed an alteration on Bruce’s original concept.

_ “It’s just a precautionary measure, you know? And it’s completely up to you.” This was one of the first instances where Dick felt the need to use his serious voice with his protege. “I won’t know where you are unless you’re in danger. You’ll still have your independence, your privacy.”  _

_ Hank let out two short laughs, and a small snort. “Dick. It’s cool, man. I’m down. And really, even if you could look me up whenever you wanted, it’s not like I have anything to hide from you.” _

_ “I’m not worried about that at all, Hank. I just… Look, overall, Batman did a good job. But I want to do this  _ my  _ way.” Dick paused. “I have to, for me. Is that okay with you?”  _

_ “Yes sir, Nightwing, sir.” Hank saluted, his expression turned exaggeratedly serious. Dick rolled his eyes, wondering how many time Bruce had to deal with this sort of thing from him. _

“Dick. Looks like he’s awake.” Dick shot up from the chair, rubbing his eyes, which were bleary from staring at the computer screen. Tim Drake briefly glanced his way before returning to his work, poking and prodding at the circuit board of the small black device given to Dick by the young woman who had been with Hank a few hours earlier.

Dick’s eyes found the small screen in front of Tim featuring video footage from the infirmary. A sandy blonde head had risen from the pillow on which it previously rested, and was turning around to take in its surroundings. “Thanks, Tim.” Dick strode through the doorway and then stopped short. “Making any headway?”

“Sort of.” Tim put down his tools for a moment. “There’s no timer, so it’s definitely motion sensitive. But, there’s no way to manually arm it, so it must have to receive some sort of signal. If I can figure out the frequency and signal situation, I might be able to disarm the rest of them.”

“You’re the man, Red Robin.” Dick shot a grin Tim’s way before exiting the room and turning the corner to the makeshift infirmary he hoped never to have to use when he had it constructed in his gym’s basement. 

“How do I look? Be honest.” Hank’s voice was rough, unsurprisingly, due to all the smoke he inhaled hours earlier. Dick laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head. Henry Duncan could always think of a witty quip in situations like these—he wanted to convince people around him that he was just fine, that he didn’t need help. 

“You look like you got blown up. How do you feel?” Dick asked his pupil with a smirk.

“Yeah, that’s about how I feel.” Hank softly smiled back at Dick, then his expression quirked with curiosity. “How did you find me?”

“Your vitals dropped below critical levels, bonehead.” 

“Ah. So you pulled me out of the fire? Wait—is the kid okay? Josh?” Hank’s scratchy voice was suddenly filled with concern.

“He’s fine, Hank.”

“How do you know? And what about—the girl who got caught in the explosion?”

“Red Robin—he’s a friend—took them both to Haven Med Center. The girl was checked in as a Jane Doe…” Just as Hank relaxed back against the pillow, he shot up back up again in a coughing fit.

“My—mask,” he managed to croak the words out between coughs. 

“It was on you when I found you.” Dick kept his tone even as he spoke, though he felt the warmth of irritation on the back of his neck. “It wasn’t me who pulled you out of the fire.”

“Oh.” Hank’s scratchy voice was quiet. He turned to the table beside his cot to grab a bottle of water, from which he took a quick drink. 

Dick pulled a chair to the side of the bed and sat, folding his arms. “Yeah. Now we’d better chat about that.” Hank eyed his mentor carefully, taking another drink before opening his mouth to speak.

“Long story short—I know the girl. The one who must’ve pulled me from the fire. Her name is Aubrey. The last time I saw her, I was twelve, maybe thirteen. But then, when I was out with Batgirl and I chased after her, her hood came off for a second… And tonight, she must have seen me without my mask, when I took it off so I wouldn’t scare that little boy.” Hank trailed off for a moment and stared at his hands. His next words were quiet. “I’m sorry, Dick.” 

Dick frowned, not out of disappointment, but curiosity. “Well that does explain a few things I suppose.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she was  _ very _ concerned about you when I got there. And then she just started talking to me, rapid fire, without any prompting.”

Dick recounted the young woman’s words to his wide-eyed partner. Aubrey said that she was supposed to bug a specific apartment—the same one that exploded. She hadn’t been told that she was actually planting a bomb rather than a microphone. 

As Dick spoke, Hank’s jaw became set, his lips pursed. “Her friend—the unconscious one—was apparently doing the same thing at the Carter residence, which I assume is how you got involved in this.”

“Yeah.” Hank’s expression was blank as he stared straight ahead at the wall. Several seconds of silence passed between mentor and mentee.

“Hey, Dick, I’ve got something.” A voice called from the doorway of the infirmary. 

“Hit me, Tim.” Dick started, then caught himself. “Oh, wait, first; Tim Drake—Hank Duncan. Kite—Red Robin.” Dick nodded back and forth between the young men throughout his introduction. 

“Nice to meet you.” Tim said cheerily, either unaware or purposely ignoring the tension of the room.

Hank cleared his throat. “Uh, hi.” 

Tim nodded back before speaking again. “I found the frequency the bombs are running on, and I can disarm them, at least temporarily. I also triangulated their locations. But there are even more than we thought. Four in Metropolis, three in Gotham, and three more here in Bludhaven.”

“So we divide and conquer. Can you upload the locations to the computer and send them to the family’s comm-links?” Dick shifted into leadership-mode, and although the Titans might have had more raw power than the Bat-Family, the family was a well-oiled machine. 

No hotheads, no drama, no glory-hounds, just highly trained people doing what needed to be done. “When Batgirl gets here, you two take the ones in the ‘Haven. Call Red Hood—he should still be in Metropolis, and I bet Supergirl would be willing to help there, too, if she hasn’t taken care of them already.” Tim nodded in agreement and tapped his gauntlet to activate his comm-link on the way out of the room. Dick did the same, tapping his gauntlet with one finger and putting the other to his earpiece.

“Hey, it’s me. Did you get what Tim sent you? I’m on the way.” Dick turned to leave the room, but was stopped by a scratchy-voiced call from his partner.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s happening? Am I, like, grounded or what?” Hank’s palms were turned upward slightly in a questioning gesture. Dick breathed out a quiet laugh.

“You’re not grounded, chainsmoker. You’re just on injury reserve. Don’t worry, we’ve got it.”

* * *

Aubrey’s grip on her grapple line tightened, her knuckles white under her gloves, as she stared through the window at her injured friend. The dark haired young man in the red costume, Red Robin, had assured her that Kiera was in good hands at Haven Medical Center, but she had heard that before. 

_ “Your brother will be just fine. It’s just a minor cardiac dysrhythmia.”  _

In a matter of days, the doctor’s message had changed to:

_ “We’re doing everything we can, but Jared needs specific expertise. St. Mary’s in Metropolis has the nation’s leading cardiac unit.” _

Aubrey’s expression morphed into a dark grimace at the memories. St. Mary’s was also one of the most expensive hospitals in the nation. And believe it or not, two orphaned kids had no health insurance. 

She gazed at Kiera’s heart rate monitor, and could almost hear the slow, rhythmic beeping as the green line traced itself across the black screen. A flash of lights entered her mind, and an irregular beeping filled her ears, following no rhythm but speeding up constantly.

Rage welled up in her chest, and she kicked off the glass window, not bothering to remain silent when doing so, so she swung away from the building with a soft  _ thunk. _

Her anger fueled her on as she sprinted across the rooftops toward the Blud Harbor Hotel. With all of her energy focused on one thing, time flew as she ran, and before she knew it, she was picking the lock of the balcony doors of the twenty-fifth floor penthouse. 

“Aubrey!” It was rare that John carried surprise in his voice, but as he sat in an armchair, still in his ‘work clothes’, Aubrey knew she had caught him off guard. A small feeling of joy swam around briefly in the waves of anger she felt within her. “I wasn’t expecting you. How did things go tonight?”

“Kiera is in the hospital, John.” She had thought of many more dramatic, cleverer opening lines while on the way here, but in the moment, she felt it would be silly to say anything other than the truth. 

“What?” 

“She was caught in an explosion. From a bomb that  _ I _ planted.” Aubrey’s teeth were gritted, she felt her fists clenched tightly. Her gloves saved her palms from being cut into by her nails. “On orders from  _ you. _ ”

She had never spoken to John in this tone. Perhaps she had never spoken to anyone in this tone. But Kiera was the closest thing Aubrey had to family. 

She had run into the young girl while in Coast City. Kiera was trying to steal a basket of bread from a farmer’s market. 

_ “Are you all alone?” Aubrey asked. The young girl in front of her nodded. Her dark brown hair was frayed and matted, her face dirty. The girl’s eyes glistened with fear, and her mouth was shoved full of bread. She must have been homeless. _

_ “I’m Aubrey.” Aubrey said slowly, approaching the girl with her hands raised. “You don’t have to be alone, if you don’t want.” _

Aubrey was fifteen at the time, and Kiera was twelve. The same age that Jared was when he died. 

“If something happens to her, I’ll be all alone  _ again. _ And that will be on you,” Aubrey hissed. John looked genuinely puzzled, and perhaps a bit hurt. Two very unfamiliar expressions on the dark haired man.

“Aubrey… I’m so sorry. I had no idea that the devices they gave us… You have to believe that I had no idea.” John paused, taking a gentle step toward Kiera. “You know this is  _ not _ what our family is about.” 

“Do not touch me.” Right then, Aubrey felt far closer to being on fire than she had when running through the flames of the Dexter Lofts. Her entire torso was so filled with tension that she was shaking. 

“Aubrey you have to see how truly sorry I am. I only want to help people like us, the people who are pushed down and stepped on by those who climb to the top. You know that. I only agreed to work with these people because I thought we shared the same goal…” John trailed off. “How did Kiera get to the hospital?”

“Some people helped me save her. Vigilante types.” Aubrey spat out the words. Many images of the blonde masked boy flashed in her head, as well as plenty of images of him without his mask. “After all your words about them protecting corrupt and wealthy people and harming poor people just trying to make a living…  _ You  _ nearly killed Kiera, and  _ they _ helped her.”

“Aubrey… I—” Aubrey cut John off.

“You’re sorry. I heard. Try telling that to Kiera. She’s in Haven Medical Center, and  _ someone  _ is going to need to foot the bill—whether she survives or not.” Her silver eyes flashed dangerously as she turned to exit the room. Not via the elevator—she couldn’t stand to be in the same building as John.

“Aubrey, Kiera will be fine.” He called to her as she felt the humid night air hit her on the balcony. “And you will never be alone as long as you’re with us. With me. Your family.”

The only thing Aubrey could do in reply was bark out a short, cold laugh of disgust.


	11. Chapter 11

Nightwing eyed the small black device in his hand carefully. He gently pried it open with his left hand, using his right hand to detach the thin blue wire from a silver socket. After the wire was detached, he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and exhaled in relief.

He had no reason not to trust Red Robin’s instructions for permanently defusing the bomb, so perhaps his anxiety came from the voice of Batman in the back of his head, always reminding him to prepare for the worst.

He glanced around the highrise apartment of Vicki Vale, once a well-known reporter, now the CEO of the large media network Vaily News. When he was going by Ric Grayson, Dick had thought the name was corny. It was one of the few things that Ric and Dick ended up agreeing on. 

Dick frowned at the aggressively modern decor of the apartment, and had a feeling that Ric would share his thoughts that it was a bit much. Or maybe Ric wouldn’t have cared either way for any interior decoration styles at all. It was hard to tell. He shook his head and tapped his gauntlet twice.

“Batman.”

“I’m here, Nightwing.” An oh-so-familiar gravelly voice buzzed in his earpiece to answer him.

“I’ve defused the bomb at Vicki Vale’s apartment. Thankfully she’s working late tonight. Although, if the apartment blew up without her in it, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. She could use a remodeling.” Dick felt another pang of nostalgia, which was further amplified by Batman’s answer.

“Good work. The explosive at the Waterson residence is defused as well. Meet me at the Powers Tech building. I have a bad feeling about this last bomb. It’s the only one in Gotham not located at a residential address. Batman out.” Dick couldn’t help but smile as he heard the soft  _ click _ of the commlink call ending.  _ Just like old times. _ Dick making lighthearted chatter and Batman staying all business. 

He tapped his gauntlet to signal his motorcycle and strolled out the door to the balcony making sure to lock it behind him so Ms. Vale wouldn’t suspect an unwanted visitor. 

  
  


Dick found the Batmobile parked in an alley down the block from the towering skyscraper of the Powers Tech building. Dick gracefully bounded up the fire escape to the rooftop, and saw the dark shadow of the bat perched on the edge of the roof.

“No gargoyles on these post-modern-style apartments, huh?” Dick joked. He couldn’t help himself. True to form, the Bat remained focused straight ahead, not smiling or turning to acknowledge Dick.

“The device on the top floor of the building. Do you have enough grapple line?” 

“Yes sir.” Dick kept his chuckle under his breath. Nightwing affirmation was all Batman needed to hear before firing his grapple toward the roof and zipping away as Dick followed closely behind him. “Just like old times. Betcha there’s a skylight up there to crash through.”

“The building’s schematics  _ do _ show a skylight, but we aren’t crashing anything until we know what we’re dealing with.” A response like this from Batman was rare. He must have been in a good mood. Dick smiled to himself as they silently prowled across the roof and approached the skylight window. 

A low, gravelly whisper broke the silence only slightly: “G.P.S. places the device just beneath this window.” 

No light was visible through the glass, but a quick tap of his mask switched Dick’s vision to the green tint of night vision lenses. The floor below them was an open concept corporate office, filled with short cubicles, computer monitors, and rolling chairs. Nightwing imagined there was a break room somewhere nearby with a ping pong table and a ‘nap-couch’. 

The former boy wonder’s head swam with questions. Throughout Bludhaven, Metropolis, and Gotham, this was the only bomb that was planted somewhere other than an apartment or home. Why? What made Powers Technology a target?

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Dick announced aloud, confounded. “Trap?” Batman’s nod was nearly imperceptible as he flicked his index finger, a lockpick extending from its small sheathe in his glove’s fingertip.

Another flick of the wrist was accented by a small  _ click _ sound as the pins of the skylight’s lock snapped into place. Batman tilted the glass up just enough for Dick to slide in, and as Nightwing dropped to the floor, the soft thud of his landing was echoed by another thump and a  _ swish _ of a cape as Batman landed beside him.

Though his vision was altered by a green filter, Dick glimpsed a slumped body in an office chair across the room. “Batman.” Dick’s voice was hushed, and he subtly gestured toward the body with a nod of his head. Batman responded with two quick hand gestures, motioning Nightwing forward.

Dick moved just as he had been taught, silently placing each footstep within the tread of his last like a big cat stalking its prey. As he approached the chair, his eyes widened in surprise. In the lap of the slumped figure was a miniscule rectangle. The explosive.

Nightwing touched two fingertips to the throat of the man he now saw slumped in the chair. A slow rhythm throbbed beneath his fingers, indicating the man was alive. He made the appropriate hand signal to Batman, then quickly reached for the device to disarm it. 

Just as he had the device in his hands, strong fingers wrapped around his wrist in a rough grip. Nightwing grunted and dropped the item in surprise, as the previously slumped man was now upright and glaring into his face. 

“Nightwing!” Batman’s rough voice called out, and suddenly, emerging from behind desks and out of doorways, a dozen men filled the room, some wielding baseball bats or pipes. Dick heard his mentor’s voice again as he wrestled with the man who had gripped his wrist, “Lights!” 

Dick spun to his right, ripping his right arm free and tapping the side of his mask twice with his left hand. He continued twisting his body, driving his newly free right elbow into the ribs of the man who had surprised him. Before his strike connected, Dick’s vision had abandoned its green hue and gone completely black in the darkness of the office.

A low  _ chunk _ and a monotone  _ buzz  _ echoed through the space as the lights of the office whirred to life, suddenly bathing the room in a fluorescent white glow. Many grunts and groans followed the lights, and the through light-filtering lenses of his mask, Nightwing saw many of the thugs in the room cover their eyes, stumble, or even fall over, temporarily blinded.

Though it was abnormal for Batman and Nightwing to work in such a well lit setting, Bruce’s tapping into the Powers Technology power grid was clearly worth the advantage it provided in a fight.

“Come on, boys. I know office lighting can be depressing, but you’re being a little dramatic.” Nightwing’s face had taken on a familiar smirk as he leapt through the air, delivering a flying kick to a nearby thug’s shoulder, crumpling him.

He heard the  _ swoosh _ of his mentor’s cape behind him as Batman slammed two heads together with a slightly chilling  _ crack. _ Dick flung his escrima sticks across the room, dropping two more men with an echoed  _ spok! _

On the other side of him, Batman threw a haymaker punch to a man’s stomach, knocking loose the air from his diaphragm. Across the room, Dick saw the final trio of men who remained standing. One, perhaps the largest, trudged toward him, and the other two stumbled out a doorway at the end of the room.

“Batman! Delta!” Dick called out the maneuver rather than Bruce, another atypical aspect of their current situation. Nevertheless, Batman stepped in front of his partner to intercept the larger man. Batman threw two punches toward the man, but they were sloppy and telegraphed, very out of character for one of the greatest hand to hand combatants on Earth. 

The man easily blocked one punch with his forearm and swatted down the other, reeling back to deliver a haymaker of his own… just as planned. Dick vaulted off of Batman’s shoulders, turning an aerial to add momentum to the kick he delivered to the exposed collarbone of the large man.

The man stumbled back, eyes widened in surprise and pain. Before the injured man could even finish his startled cry, a swoosh of a cape and a blur of black flashed through Dick’s peripheral vision, and Batman drove his palm firmly into the man’s abdomen. 

  
A significantly loud  _ thud _ echoed through the room as the man fell to the floor. “Two more ran down the hall. I’ll disarm the bomb.” Dick found himself speaking before really thinking about it. He started to open his mouth and apologize, remembering that he didn’t give the orders in Gotham, but Batman was already moving.

Dick didn’t have time to think about the earful he’d likely get from his mentor later—he had no idea how long Tim’s disruptor signal would hold up to prevent the bomb from exploding. He quickly tapped his mask to switch from his polarized lenses to regular vision, and scrambled to the floor to find the small black rectangle. Just underneath the office chair where the man had been faking unconsciousness, he found the explosive, removing the panel and the thin blue wire just as he had done with the device before.

“Did you disarm it?” Nightwing had long ago stopped being terribly surprised by unseen voices piping up from behind him, but this was not the gravelly tone of Batman, though it was familiar. This voice was a lyric baritone, breathy and cool, so effortless that it gave a hint of condescension. 

Nightwing whirled around to find the hooded man he had seen on the roof earlier in the night. The former boy wonder rushed toward the leather garbed man, thinking for a split second of reaching for his escrima sticks, but then recalling that they were across the room next to two incapacitated thugs. 

He improvised by snatching a three hole punch from a desk, taking swing toward the hood, who gracefully backflipped away. Nightwing pressed his assault, but stopped short as the man raised his hands in surrender, calling out again: “I’m not here to fight you.”

Dick raised an eyebrow and paused. “Then why are you here?” 

“To talk.” 

Dick raised both eyebrows this time, his mind churning. Across the hall, behind the hooded man, Batman stepped into view, stalking silently across the floor. After a moment of indecision, Dick straightened up from his fighting stance, nodding to his mentor, who paused and straightened up as well.

“Okay. Let’s talk.” 

* * *

“Wake up.” At one point, Mary Duncan may not have recognized the frigid tone of her words. But she and Rodger had learned long ago that this life they lead had no room for second guessing themselves. Adapt and survive. No matter the situation, no matter the adaptations it called for. 

“What the bloody hell…” Oswald Cobblepot’s eyes looked especially beady when there was no monocle to obscure one of them. He groaned in pain—or was it more of a squawk?—as the back of Mary’s hand connected with his cheek. He struggled against the velcro ties binding him to the chair.

“I said wake up. Not speak up.” Mary glared forward at the ‘Penguin’.  _ Ridiculous name. _ She didn’t much care for any of this childish ‘hero’ and ‘villain’ nonsense. 

To Mary, they were all narcissists who fought amongst themselves, desperate to have their names in headlines regardless of how many innocent,  _ real _ people were harmed in the process. Fathers, mothers, daughters… sons. 

And none of the ‘heroes’ seemed to go after the real villains. Millionaires and billionaires who exploit those around them to fulfill their endless greed. She clenched both her teeth and her fists as she continued: “Do you know why you’re here, Oswald?” 

Cobblepot blinked a few times, squinting his beady eyes at her. Mary fought off the beginnings of a smirk forming on her lips—it wasn’t a single-handed effort, as Cobblepot had endured a traumatic night already thanks to John, but she still felt some satisfaction in the man’s fearful silence.

“We had twelve packages scheduled for delivery tonight, and based on the police scanners, only one of them actually arrived.” Mary paused for a moment, turning to her husband. “Unless we’ve had any updates?”

“No news.  _ Not  _ good news.” Rodger’s looked up momentarily from the laptop screen he was looking at. His casual disinterest seemed to frighten the small, bound man even more. Cobblepot had begun sweating from his brow, and his handkerchief was unavailable to him at the moment.

“See,  _ as you know _ , twelve explosives were set to be planted tonight,  _ including _ one to serve purely as a distraction for our masked friends, but only one explosion has been reported. It may be just a hunch, but it’s almost as if the masks  _ knew _ what was coming.”

Mary kept her tone chillingly cool as she paced in front of Cobblepot’s chair. She glanced back toward Rodger once more, who met her eyes briefly. He stood up from his own chair, placing the laptop gently down where he had been sitting. 

In the dim light of the condemned subway station, Rodger’s sandy-stubble and hair looked darker, more intimidating. He walked slowly toward Cobblepot. 

“Not many people knew about the operation we were planning tonight. We only told our two associates. You, and the man who you met earlier tonight.” Rodger knelt down next to Cobblepot, and his words became low and quiet. “To be clear, the man in the hood. Not Nightwing. To whom you spoke just before Hood found you.” 

“I’ve said nothing to the boy. You don’t make a living the way I do without knowing how to speak to people in masks.” Penguin’s words were confident, but rushed. 

“What do you think?” Rodger looked toward his wife. Mary pondered for a moment.

“I believe him. He’s a coward, obviously, but he’s more afraid of us than he is the masks. Even so, we need to make some more adjustments to our plans.” Mary flashed her eyes back at the beady eyed, rotund captive.

“What do you want from me?” Again, confident but hastily spoken words. Rodger nodded toward Mary, encouraging her to respond.

“Well, Oswald, all we really wanted was to inform you of a little change in our plans.” Rodger had picked up his laptop once again, staring at it has he spoke. “We’ve run into a few snags on our end, but they ended up inspiring a few new ideas. We believe they will be even more beneficial for both of us.”

“Th—that’s it? You want to… continue doing business together?” Genuine surprise was present on the unfortunate-looking man’s face.

Mary allowed herself a cold smile. “Of course, Oswald. I apologize if we frightened you. I assure you it wasn’t personal, simply business.”

Cobblepot cleared his throat and swallowed, feeling more comfortable. “I understand. Please, continue. What changes do you have in mind?”


	12. Chapter 12

The girl was awake, finally.  _ Kiera _ . That was her name. Awake and apparently fine, despite the gauze covering the nasty burn mark on her throat. She was looking out the window, but not in his direction. Through his mask’s telescopic lenses, Hank assumed Kiera would only need another day or so in the hospital.

He’d already seen Josh leave the hospital in his mother’s arms. He silently thanked the universe that the young boy had been unscathed. Hank made a mental note to check in on Josh and his mother later, to make sure they had somewhere safe to stay until they found a new living situation.

Hank glanced down at the scrap of paper in his hand. He had  _ really _ meant to listen to Dick and take it easy and stay in bed. But in the pocket of his black tee shirt, he’d found a small piece of paper. One side of the scap featured the text:  _ Dexter Lo _ —the final letters had been cut off by the neat tear in the paper.

The other side’s text was what got Hank out of bed.  _ Haven Medical Center. 4 AM _ — _ A.B. _

Aubrey Barrow. Her handwriting wasn’t the same as when they were thirteen, but Hank couldn’t imagine who else would be responsible for the note. Then again, his mask’s HUD showed 4:01 AM. 

Kite frowned, beginning to try and recall if it was typical for Aubrey to be late. Then he pushed the thought away. He didn’t know  _ what  _ was typical for this girl. He didn’t even really know who she was. 

“Hey.” Hank whirled around at the soft voice behind him. Of course she had snuck up on him. He took a small breath, resisting the urge to cough. His throat felt full of sandpaper. 

“Hey.” His voice was scratchy. A moment of silence. Or perhaps several moments.

“So. You’re alright?” Aubrey removed her hood, her silver eyes glinting in the moonlight. She wasn’t wearing her facemask. Hank raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m fine. What about you?” 

“Fine.”   
  


Another silence fell over the pair. Everything Hank could think of to say sounded ridiculous in his head. The game had changed once again now that Aubrey knew who he was, and Kite felt terribly exposed despite his body armor.

“What happened to you?” Hank broke the silence, folding his arms over navy blue bird symbol on his chestplate. This was not quite two old friends catching up at a coffee shop.  _ Not much point in making small talk. _

Aubrey stayed silent for a moment, turning to walk toward the edge of the rooftop, staring across the night air toward the Haven Medical Center. She took a breath and exhaled. “A lot.” She said, sitting down on the edge of the roof.

Unsure if he was invited, Hank tentatively walked to meet her at the edge of the roof, sitting down to her right, leaving a chunk of space between them. “Jared’s dead.” She stared at the street below, now; her voice devoid of any energy.

“I’m so sorry.” Hank said quietly, his eyes wide.  _ Pointless, _ he thought as soon as the words left his mouth. He’d heard it too many times himself. Eventually, the phrase didn’t really mean anything, it was just something to fill the silence. 

“Yeah.” She replied blankly. 

“Tanner—”

“I know. It was in the paper. I’m sorry.” Her silver eyes met Hank’s this time. Somehow, a layer of the strange tension in the air had lifted. 

“Jared… wasn’t.” Hank noted. He had of course wondered where Aubrey’s brother was during all of this, but he hadn’t exactly found a good time to ask her. She returned her gaze to the street.

“No. It was a heart condition. They said it wasn’t a big deal, but then—” Her voice trembled slightly, but when her gaze snapped back to meet Hank’s, her eyes shone with rage rather than tears. “There was a treatment for him. But we couldn’t afford it. They put us on a waitlist for donations. None came. Apparently that wasn’t a newsworthy story.” 

“Shit.” Hank couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he certainly wasn’t going to say ‘sorry’ again. 

Aubrey roughly brushed her hands against her knees and stood up. A breeze from the ocean blew by them, her cloak fluttering silently off to the side. “After he died, someone took me in. It wasn’t an official adoption, but it was better than being alone. And now… I do this.” 

“You and Kiera, both.” Hank stood up as well, moving to put his hands in his pockets, but then recalling that his uniform did not have pockets. He quickly clasped his hands behind his back.

Aubrey paused again, glancing at the hospital once more before returning her gaze to him. “There are more. A lot more.” 

“What are you, like, a thieves’ guild?”

“Like a family. Sort of.” Aubrey stared at the city skyline, her words drifted out of her mouth like she was thinking about something else.

“I know I asked before—but why do you… do this?” Hank hoped he sounded concerned rather than accusing. The young woman sighed and looked back at him.

“We help people. There are so many people who have so much money, Hank,” like an old flipbook animation, memories flashed through his mind upon hearing his real name come out of her mouth. 

“Too much money to know what to do with. And lots of those people got it through lying, corruption, exploitation—basically stealing.” Aubrey hid her hands within her dark green cloak. Hank had a feeling, like an itch in his brain to try and argue, but he bit back his words. Aubrey had certainly earned him hearing her out. “We steal a little back, and give it to the people who really need it. So they can afford food, shelter—”

“Medical procedures.” Hank interjected quietly, giving his head the slightest of nods. Her mouth quirked before she replied.

“Yeah. It’s… this is silly, but it’s sort of like Robin Hood. Steal from the rich and give to the poor.” Hank thought for a moment about her words. How could he believe her at face-value that she was helping people other than herself? He felt torn between giving an old friend the benefit of the doubt, and knowing personally that a lot had changed since they had truly been old friends.

“I agree. It’s silly.” Hank had started his sentence without quite knowing how it was going to finish. “...Ridiculous, really—to dress up in strange costumes and go out at night, taking justice into your own hands.” He deadpanned. Her mouth quirked again, this time into an entire half smile. More of the tension was drained away.

“Is that what you call what you do?” Aubrey’s eyes glinted as she asked the question.

“Sort of.” It was Hank’s turn to avoid eye contact. Now, he thought carefully before he spoke. He hadn’t quite figured out the proper way to articulate his thoughts on the life he’d chosen. 

“I just—You know, Superman, Batman, Nightwing, those guys, there are only so many of them. They can’t be everywhere. They can’t… save everyone. If someone needs help, and they can’t be there...maybe I can.” 

Kite ground the heel of his boot against the gravel of the roof, finally shifting his eyes back toward Aubrey. Her pale brown hair looked shiny and smooth in the moonlight. The small, soft smile on her face gave Hank a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Thank you. For helping Kiera.” 

He laughed quietly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Pulling me out of the fire was thanks enough, really.”

Aubrey’s smile disappeared, replaced by pursed lips. “I had no idea that they were explosives. They told us they were bugs—to record conversations—I would never—”

“Aubrey.” Silver eyes met his when he said her name, which felt a little funny on his tongue. He chided himself for being distracted by hormones in an important moment. “I know you wouldn’t do that. I mean, I know it’s been a while, but… I don’t know. I just  _ know _ .”

Aubrey’s expression was impossible to read, and before he could try to theorize what she was thinking, her lips were pecking his cheek. “Thank you.” Another swathe of silence. As quickly as she was right next to him, she was across the roof. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on. My… boss has met with a few different people. Two I don’t know, and tonight he was meeting with Oswald Cobblepot. Something is going on at the benefit dinner he’s hosting.”

Hank frowned.  _ Your boss? _ And Oswald Cobblepot. The Penguin. And the host of the benefit dinner he had agreed to attend with Liz and her family. As he was thinking, Aubrey was still striding away from him. “Wait—Aubrey, where—”

“Kite!” For the second time tonight, he was startled by a voice behind him, even standing on a rooftop. Hank spun around, his eyes landing on a face that was masked, but still familiar. He definitely recognized the cardinal red body armor, similar in design to his own. 

Tim Drake, or in this case, Red Robin. “Busted,” Hank muttered as the darker haired young man landed beside him on the rooftop, his grapple line retracting with a quick  _ zzzip  _ noise. 

“Was that—”

“The girl from before. Yeah.” Hank crossed his arms in irritation. “Look, I know I’m supposed to be in bed, or whatever, but I’m fine. You don’t have to take me in, I’ll go home and rest.”   
  


“Dude, chill.” Red Robin had raised his hands in surrender, a small smile crossing his face. “I’m not here to take you in or boss you around. I was just doing another sweep for any more explosives, and saw you.”

_ Oh. _ Hank winced at his own callousness. “My bad. I’m a little on edge.” 

“It’s been a big day for you.” 

“Right. So did you find anything?” Hank was tired of talking about himself. 

“As far as explosives go, no.” Tim paused for a moment. “But, I did find something else that is—hmm. I was going to say ‘a little fishy’, but I just realized that would be a bad pun.”

Hank laughed, an unexpected and loud laugh. “What do you mean?” Red Robin flashed a grin, turning away from Hank toward the edge of the roof.

“I’ll tell you on the way, come on.”

* * *

“At first, I thought we wanted the same things.” The man, John had removed his hood and facemask, revealing dark hair and steely blue eyes. “Well, we  _ did  _ want the same things. Too many people in the world have gathered exorbitant amounts of resources by stepping on people who are weaker than them. They donate some to charity, sure, but to give back? Or to receive a tax credit?”

Dick kept his arms crossed and his expression blank. Behind John, Batman was a looming shadow, everything but his set jaw hidden by his cape and cowl. Though it was almost impossible to tell what the Batman was thinking, Nightwing was probably one of the most qualified people on the planet to take a guess.

_ Something’s not right. This is too easy. _

Something  _ other _ than the three costumed men standing next to a water cooler, underneath the fluorescent lighting of the Powers Technology offices.

As far as the thoughts of the Batman went, “Something isn’t right” was usually a pretty safe bet. Although he was traditionally more trusting and optimistic than his mentor, Dick was also feeling uneasy. When he and Batman had a ‘talk’ with someone wearing a strange outfit, they were not usually such a willing participant.

“Robert and Marilyn…”  _ Who are actually Robert and Mary Duncan.  _ Dick narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “All I’ve wanted is to even things out a bit.” John continued, “To offer help to the people who’ve been stepped on. I don’t suppose you’re familiar with the tale of Robin Hood?” 

Dick nearly revealed a smile at the mention of his favorite book. “I’ve read it. Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.” 

“That’s the idea. My great grandfather told me stories when I was young. He claimed that Howard Pyle’s novels were not just folktales, and that we were descendants of a real Robin Hood, actually named Alistair Hoodmold.” John paused in thought. “To be honest, I don’t know how much I believe my great grandfather’s stories. But they would explain my family’s, ah, proclivity for sticky fingers. My great grandfather, my grandfather, and my mother, were all master thieves.”

“Did you come here just to give us a history of your family?” Batman’s rough tone cut through the air the second that John had taken another pause. John glanced back toward the Bat—if he felt uneasy in any way, he was disguising it well.

“No. I apologize. I came because I had no intention of putting anyone in danger,” John said, turning back toward Dick, a momentary look of confusion on his face, “Err… I suppose the only name I know to call you is Nightwing. We fought earlier, but I assure you I only practice violence if it is necessary to defend myself or others. The same goes for my students.”

“Your small army of small ninjas.” Dick raised an eyebrow—to his surprise, John actually laughed. Well, he smiled and exhaled through his nose, at least.

“That’s correct. Ninjas. Students. Family. I trust you two are familiar with the way those terms can overlap.” It was now Dick’s turn to crack a smile, though he quickly returned to a stoic expression, remembering that the Batman was watching him. “Our goal is to help people, not harm them. God knows I’ve made mistakes before in that regard… In this case, I was told that we were planting recording devices, not explosives. I understand that you and your own family have made sure that few people were harmed by them. Thank you.”

“‘ _ Few people harmed _ ’ is still too many.” Batman commented gruffly.

“I agree completely.” John gave a sober nod. “Which is why I won’t be working any longer with Robert and Marilyn Dagget. Initially, they provided me with information on many corrupt elites throughout Gotham, Bludhaven, and Metropolis. I was to do what I always do. Steal from the rich and redistribute the wealth. Cobblepot would hold the stolen goods for ransom, attempting to blackmail their owners into donating to his foundation. But at some point, they changed. Their plan for fighting inequality is to cut it off at the source.”

“At Cobblepot’s banquet.” Dick said, his eyes wide behind his mask. A spark went off in his brain, suddenly weaving together a tapestry of ideas and theories he’d been developing since reading the Duncan’s obituary.

“Forty of the most wealthy people on the eastern seaboard will be in attendance, along with their families.” Batman had stepped forward, staring straight at Dick. “In one place, vulnerable to an explosion.” 


	13. Chapter 13

The smell of seafood assaulted Hank’s nostrils. It was 4:47 am according to his mask’s HUD—a late night for any of the still awake residents of Bludhaven, but for multitude of fishermen and fisherwomen in front of him, it was an early morning.

The soft, dull roar of the Bludhaven Fish Market was one Hank had heard many times before on the walk from his apartment to the Union for an early morning shift. The roar had not yet begun, it seemed, as the only sounds present other than the cresting of waves were soft taps and knocks against wood, as the fishers continued setting up their booths to sell their stock.

Hank glanced to his left, eyeing the young man perched next to him, clad in crimson.  _ Why was I such a jerk, earlier? _ Red Robin—Tim hadn’t done anything wrong to him. In an instant, a voice in the back of his head answered his question.  _ You’re insecure. _

Growing up without parents had forced Hank to be sure of himself. For a long time, Hank had no one’s opinion to worry about except for Tanner’s and his own. Eventually, that circle began to vary in size. Aubrey and Jared, later Scott and Jan, eventually Liz, Will, and Kenzie. Now he’d added Dick, and the other Bat-disciples.

Kite was new to the hero gig. All of them had years of experience on him, including Red Robin, despite their similar age. When he first started putting on a mask, Hank felt like he stood on solid ground, perhaps more than ever before. He knew who he was and what his purpose was.

But now, so many things around him were changing. His friends were getting ready to go away to college. Aubrey appeared in his life again, but as a different person than he’d known. He felt like every time he put on his uniform, he screwed something up. And Dick’s news about his parents… Kite didn’t even know what he was supposed to think.  _ How about get over yourself, dumbass? The world doesn’t revolve around you, and doesn’t stop just because you’re not thinking about it. _

He shook his head and turned again toward Tim. “So, there’s Nightwing, Red Hood, and Red Robin. Is there even a plain old  _ Robin _ anymore?” Hopefully making conversation could distract Hank from his swimming, and keep him in the moment. 

Tim smirked, chuckling softly to himself. “Oh, there’s a Robin alright. He’s a troublemaker. He’s with the Teen Titans, recently. Kind of doing his own thing rather than the sidekick thing.”

“Ah. The Teen Titans. They’re big on Twitter. Cool.” Hank thought for a moment. “So does this ever… I don’t know. Do you ever feel like you kind of forget why you do this?”

Red Robin frowned. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“I mean, fighting crime. Beating people up. Does it ever… Do you ever wonder if it’s the right thing to do? Or if you’re going about it the right way?” Hank laughed at himself, a bit sharply. “I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”

“I think I get what you mean.” Red Robin’s face was kind, even with his mask obscuring part of it. “Batman… You know he started all this to send a message. He wanted to show people, selfish people, who thought they could do whatever they wanted, that there were consequences for their actions.”

“To scare them into… not doing crime.” 

“That was the idea, yes. But the message kind of evolved, eventually. It took him a while to figure it out, and between you and me,” Tim dramatically glanced to his left and right before stage whispering. “I think he’s still figuring it out.” Kite couldn’t help but chuckle, and Red Robin continued. “So maybe you’re also just trying to figure out the message that  _ Kite _ is sending.”

“Sure.” Hank’s shoulders didn’t feel so heavy anymore. “Thanks, man. And, uh, sorry about being a dick before. Not the message I want to send, for sure.” Hank smiled as his words earned him a chuckle from Tim.

“You’re good, dude. Really. Oh! Right there, that woman.” Hank had almost forgotten that they were here to do more than just chat. Kite shifted his gaze to follow Red’s pointed finger, his eyes falling on a woman in the middle of the commotion, who looked a bit out of place. She wore a bright red trench coat, which, although was fitting for the cool mist of the New Jersey morning air, was vastly different from the work shirts and sweatshirts that the fishers wore.

Her arms were folded across her chest, her long dark hair fell over her shoulder, and her foot quickly tapped away at the ground impatience. The man in front of her was large, his body hardened from a life of shipwork. Despite outclassing her in height and weight, he looked markedly uncomfortable, perhaps even scared.

The man’s mouth was moving, while the woman’s was closed tightly, her jaw set. Clearly signalling annoyance. Hank glanced toward Tim, “How’s your lip reading?”

“Not good. But I’ve got another idea.” The dark haired young man pulled something from his own belt and pointed it at the man and woman. WIth a soft, quick  _ hiss _ , a tiny black blur flew forth from the small cylinder in Red Robin’s hand.

Hank just barely made out the image of the blur disappearing under the table behind the man and woman, then suddenly heard a buzzing in his ear, followed by the sound of voices.

“My crew, they have families. F.F.A. is my biggest buyer, and if I lose their business…” The man’s voice was burly but with warm undertones, though it also sounded very tired. Like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in days.

“You’ll go under. In the red, not in the black. You won’t be able to pay your crew, Lawrence.” The woman spoke sharply, gruffly, and icily. No trace of sympathy was present in her words. “But all of that would have happened months ago without my funding. So you will do this for me, because  _ you work for me _ . Understood?” 

Lawrence took his time before speaking again, clearly struggling with his decision. “I—I understand. And you’re sure that whatever you did to the fish isn’t going to hurt anyone who eats them, Ms. O’Hare?” Hank frowned at the mention of the name. Where had he heard that before? 

“They’ll do far more good than the will harm, Lawrence. I assure you of that. And you will not lose FFA’s business. The nanobots are completely untraceable.”

“Nanobots? In fish?” Red Robin’s words caused Hank to turn his way, catching the inquisitive expression on the young man’s face. Kite shrugged before speaking.

“Definitely not on the food pyramid. Who is this lady anyway? Why does she—” Hank trailed off, his mind diving into a memory.  _ “I assure you, Ms. O’Hare, this is a very secure location.” _

He blinked, back in reality. “Oh my god. I know this woman. O’Hare. She was a customer of Michael Turner, the human trafficker that Di—Nightwing and I stopped a few months ago.” 

“Right. Caroline O’Hare,” Tim said as he began tapping furiously at his gauntlet with his right hand. Red Robin appeared to be staring off into nothing, but Hank knew that the crimson mask he wore must have been displaying all sorts of information to him. 

“The O’Hare family is old money, almost as old as—Err, nevermind—she owns major portions of eight companies who lead Bludhaven in revenue. There are multiple articles about buyouts she’s responsible for that resulted in the loss of hundreds of jobs.” As Tim spoke, O’Hare began to stride away from Lawrence, her red trench coat flapping in the seabreeze. 

Hank felt a surge of anger overcome him. For this woman, money had been no object, throughout her whole life. And yet, whatever money she had wasn’t enough. Hundreds of people suffered because of her desire for more, and that was only according to ‘on-the-books’ reporting.

“Okay, I’ve heard enough,” Hank muttered, ignoring the pain in his chest as he snapped his arm forward and extended his legs, sending a wingding spinning through the air and propelling himself off the roof that he and Red Robin perched on. He also ignored the “Wait!” he heard Tim whisper urgently.

The wingding hit the ground in front of O’Hare first, with a sharp “ _ tink” _ as the metal collided with the asphalt. A split second later, Kite hit the ground with a soft thud and a scratchy “ _ oof” _ . 

_ Ow. That doesn’t usually hurt. _ He resisted the urge to press his hand to his abdomen. “Last month you’re trying to purchase human beings— _ children _ — and now you’re putting robots in fish? What is wrong with—”

Kite didn’t get to finish his thought. Pain roared to life in his lower back as knuckles jabbed themselves between a gap in his suit’s kevlar plating. He felt himself stumble forward and a man appeared in his vision, extending his arm toward Hank’s throat. Instinct took over as Kite spun his body to avoid the strike, swinging and extending his own leg to kick the man in the chest. 

He remembered his tweaked ankle too late. It throbbed as he put pressure on it, causing him to cry out in pain and lose power in his kick. Wiry arms pinned Kite’s own arms above his head, and the man in front of him unleashed a flurry of blows on his wide open torso.

“Two against one? What happened to all the honorable thugs?” Tim’s voice was loud, but seemed far away to Hank. Another faraway  _ “clank” _ sound rang in Hank’s ears for a moment, and his arms were freed. He lurched forward, throwing his bodyweight at the man in front of him.

They tumbled onto the ground, and Hank caught a blurred image of Red Robin twirling a metal bow staff as he danced gracefully around the strikes of the dark haired man who had snuck up behind Hank. Kite pushed his forearm into the neck of the man he’d tackled, throwing two jabs into his jaw. 

He felt like he was trying to punch through water. His muscles were on fire, and he couldn’t suck enough air into his lungs. Before Kite knew it, the man below him was on top of him, and then standing up. Hank started to struggle to his feet, but a boot crashed against the side of his head. 

His world went white for a moment, then faded back into view. But it was a very blurry view, with white splotches everywhere. He saw a blur of scarlet—Tim—flipping backwards as two dark blobs approached him.

“No… you boys... have to take turns… a one-person ride.” The blood roaring in Hank’s ears was overshadowing Tim’s voice. 

Hank hazily recalled the two meathead security guards who defended O’Hare in the tunnels during his unofficial outing with Nightwing. The men protecting her now were much different—slim rather than bulky, and clearly trained better.

Hank’s eyes kept closing without his permission. Another dark blob entered his vision, and he heard a familiar voice. “Well… What do.... Have here?”  _ Dick?  _ He tried to open his mouth, but it felt full of cotton. Kite shook his head vigorously and rolled his body over, trying to push himself off the ground despite his triceps screaming at him.

He felt his body painstakingly raise a few inches, then collapse, and his world went dark once more. 

* * *

It was probably old fashioned, with all of the digital options for calendars and to-do lists, but Dick Grayson preferred to use pen and paper to keep track of his duties. Underneath the elegant ‘ _ Haly’s Circus’ _ at the top of the notepad, he drew a line through another task. 

Dick still thought that creating more promotional materials was one of his better ideas during his brief stint as the manager of Haly’s, even if the notepads specifically were not a big hit. At least he wound up with twenty boxes full of the things to help him organize his today and tomorrow, and remind him of yesterday.

He removed his mask gently, wiping sweat from his brow before slumping back in his chair. Working nonstop for the past two days had caught up with him. He glanced back toward his to do list. 

_ CALL SCOTT/JAN _

_ LECTURE _

_ MEET W/ COMMISSIONER _

_ REPAIR SUIT _

It was typically easy for him to put Nightwing ahead of Dick Grayson’s priorities. When Dick was younger, he would always rather spend time in his Robin uniform than doing his homework or in class. This particular page of the Haly’s notepad featured a lot of overlap between his two identities.

Dick found himself frowning. Recently, it seemed like Dick Grayson and Nightwing were blending together more than ever. He had always wanted to be better than his mentor about not losing himself in his mask. Bruce was a great man, but it wasn’t always clear to Dick whether it was Batman that drove Bruce to greatness, or the other way around.

He wasn’t sure whether Dick or Nightwing needed it more, but either way, he  _ had _ to get some rest. He trudged into his bedroom, and just as he flopped on his bed, his phone rang. Dick sighed and picked it up.

“Hello?” 

“You needed something?” 

“Right, so sorry, Bruce.” Dick shook his head.  _ Knew I forgot something. _ “I wondered if you could look into something for me. Tim and I stopped a shipment of fish contaminated with nanotechnology the other day, but the woman behind it, Caroline O’Hare, has her hands in some of the most dominant corporations around Bludhaven, and some in Gotham. I was hoping—”

“Send me their names and I’ll check it out.” It wasn’t even close to the first time Dick had been interrupted by Bruce. Dick knew his mentor only did so to save time, which was always of the essence for both Bruce Wayne and Batman. Since he was exhausted anyway, Dick actually appreciated not having to finish his sentence. “Is… everyone clear on the plan for the banquet?” 

“Everyone’s clear.” Dick was unintentionally curt in his reply. He pushed away an unpleasant memory as the image of the crossed off  _ LECTURE _ item from his to-do list appeared in his mind. “Are you sure you can get Penguin to move it up?” Dick’s mind was momentarily free of its tired haze, instead racing with ideas of all he’d have to do in the next two days.

“He already did. A large donation from Bruce Wayne to the Cobblepot Foundation caused him to change his mind, even though many of the people on his guest list won’t be able to make the new date.” If criminals knew that Batman spoke in the third person as often as he did, the cowardly and suspicious lot of Gotham might not be so fearful of him. “With our... new friend protecting him rather than acting as muscle for the Duncans, he should be plenty safe as well.”

Dick thought back to he and Batman’s talk with John Hood, or  _ Alistair _ , as he called himself in his mask and hood. Bruce’s black and white morality was initially not on board with accepting help from a thief, but Dick quickly reminded him of the many times he’d partnered with Catwoman. 

All the same, Dick also had his own qualms about trusting their new ally, but he did seem good intentioned. The idea of a network of thieves who stole from corrupt wealthy people to give money to charities was a bit hard to believe. _ And still technically a crime. But so is putting on a mask and beating up muggers. _

On top of that, so much of what Alistair said to Nightwing and Batman filled in the gaps of the puzzle Dick had begun to piece together in his head. The Duncans were losing it. He didn’t know what set them off, but their plans were no longer simply burning down properties of those they viewed as the corrupt ruling class. 

To Rodger and Mary, Cobblepot’s banquet was an opportunity to cut out the middleman. The explosives from the other night were a trial run. Though the Bat-family had prevented any casualties, all of the local news outlets discussing the charred remains of the Dexter Lofts confirmed that the explosives certainly did their job.

“Colleen—Commissioner Edwards is assigning a team of detectives to search for city for Rodger and Mary, in case they’re hiding here. At this point, they’re still in the wind,” Dick stated.

“And the Gotham police have agreed to assist with security at the banquet. The Duncans have been in hiding for most of their lives. I doubt they’ll be found again unless they want it that way.” Bruce paused for a split second. “Dick—” Dick resisted the urge to sigh in preparation for a Bat-lecture. Moving the date of the banquet took a lot of heat off the situation, as there would be far fewer in attendance, and therefore fewer in danger.

“You’ve done all you can, for now. You need to get some rest. If they show on Saturday evening, we’ll be ready for them.” 

Dick’s mouth quirked into a smirk. “Hey now.  _ Robin  _ is supposed to reassure  _ Batman. _ ” 

“Well, I suppose things have changed, haven’t they?” Bruce hung up, but now before Dick had the chance to savor another rare moment of banter. As he put down his phone, he glanced at the screen, which read  _ 9:42 am _ . He’d been awake for some amount of time over forty-eight hours. Before he could figure out the exact amount, the former boy wonder’s eyes drifted shut.

* * *

“Hello?” At ten in the morning, the Union was always filled with the sounds of mugs clinking on tables, coffee brewing, and a constant murmur of the social and business meetings going on in the shop. But no one answered Hank Duncan’s greeting as he closed the front door behind him and put his key back in his jeans pocket. 

_ What’s going on?  _

The overhead lights of the shop were on their dimmest setting, so the brightest glow in the room came from the few lamps scattered about on tables and near walls. The only sound in Hank’s ears was the soft tinkling of piano keys coming from the speakers. 

The back door of the shop swung open with a familiar  _ creak _ , and Hank smiled as soon as he heard the bubbly voice of Jan Granger. “That’s such great news! When—Oh! Henry!” Jan’s focus was directed toward her phone conversation and the pair of cardboard boxes in her arms, but her eyes still crinkled with her own smile as she acknowledged him. “Dawn, I actually need to let you go, but I’ll call you later today. Okay. Bye! Love you!”

“Where is everyone? Thursday’s are never this slow, are they?” Hank asked with a grin. Jan crossed the room with surprising speed, crushing him into a hug.

“Excuse me? No hello?” 

“Oof! Sorry, hi Jan.” Hank almost found himself giggling as he hugged her back, thankful for the painkillers he’d taken before coming to the Union.

He’d spent the entirety of the past week doing Kite stuff—fighting criminals, running into apartment fires, or lying in a cot with an IV drip—that he hadn’t had time to just be Hank Duncan. When was the last time he’d spent time with Jan? It felt like months. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Jan pulled back, releasing her death grip around Hank’s torso and placing her hands on his shoulders, looking at him sternly. “Are you doing alright?” She gently stroked her finger across a bruise on Hank’s jaw.

“Ow.” He deadpanned, then smiled at Jan’s eyeroll. “I’m fine, Jan. It was just one flight of stairs.” Obviously, he had to lie. Telling the truth was not an option. It would put Jan in danger. But that didn’t make Hank feel any better about it. He decided to change the subject. “Seriously, though, what’s up? Why is no one here?”

“We’re closed. Because I knew you would try to come in and work today, despite me _ strictly forbidding _ it.” Jan turned away from him and strode back to the back door, picking up the boxes. 

Hank instinctively followed her. “Hey, let me help—”

“Absolutely not, Henry. Dick told me you already had a sprained ankle when you were helping him and fell down the stairs. You will not be helping one bit. I am glad to see you, though.” 

Hank smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes. The mention of his teacher caused his mind to fill with memories.

_ “What were you thinking? I specifically said you were on injury reserve.” Hank hadn’t heard Dick’s voice so cold since his first lecture from him back before Hank was even wearing a real uniform.  _

_ “Come on, Dick, I’m fine.”  _

_ “You are  _ not  _ fine. You have two cracked ribs, more bruised ones, and your ankle is the size of a softball. And that’s all on top of the carbon monoxide you huffed just a few hours prior.”  _

_ “I’m sorry.” Hank looked at the IV drip needle in his arm. Dick’s face had no trace of the carefree smirk Hank was accustomed to seeing on it.  _

_ “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to yourself.” Hank didn’t reply, continuing to stare at his arm. Dick sighed. “Okay, now I’m sorry. This is my fault, too. I went through months of training before actually going out in the field. I shouldn’t have started you so quickly. And with the news about your parents...” _

“Henry? What’s wrong?” 

Hank realized his mouth had morphed into a scowl. “Nothing.” He reset his face, throwing a sincere look toward Jan.  _ Apparently not sincere enough. _ Jan’s frowning expression only deepened with a raise of her left eyebrow. Her green eyes easily saw past his facade. “Okay. Well, it’s something. It’s just… complicated.”

“Try me.” Jan gently pushed Hank down into the soft chair behind him, then sat across from him.

“Well…”  _ I’m secretly a superhero. Well, at least I try. But I’m not sure I even want to do that anymore, because I suck at it, and I’m not sure I’m even doing the right thing. And Nightwing, who’s like my partner/teacher, is mad at me.  _ “I keep feeling like I’m screwing things up. But it’s not just that. Even when I don’t screw up, it feels like I should have done things differently, somehow. Just a few weeks ago, I felt like I knew what I was doing, and where I was going, but now I feel so unsure about everything.”

Jan surprised him with a laugh. “That isn’t complicated, Hank. That’s life. It’s always changing, and  _ we _ are always changing. Sometimes those changes can make us feel like we’re out of control, and that’s because, really, we are.” Jan’s eyes became wistful as she spoke.

“What do you mean?” Hank leaned forward in his chair, propping himself up with his elbows on his knees.

“Jason used to get stressed when he read the newspaper.” A tinge of sadness entered Jan’s voice at the mention of her late husband, though she still smiled reassuringly. “He took personal responsibility for all of the tragedies he read about. He put so much pressure on himself.” 

“Whenever  _ I _ was stressed about money, or the Union, it was so easy for him to remind me that there was no reason to worry about things that were out of my control. And that  _ everyone _ was just making things up as they go along. He was so good at helping others, but sometimes forgot to help himself.”

_ “What the hell are you talking about? I was already doing this without your training, your toys, or your permission.” Hank felt heat on the back of his neck as he snapped at Dick. “Don’t act like you’ve never gotten hurt on the job. We wear bullet proof armor, Dick. I know the risks. And, really? My parents?” His voice, still scratchy from the smoke, was trembling. He tried his best to at least control his volume.  _

_ “I don’t remember them at all. I thought they died when I was three. Turns out they just left my brother and I on some orphanage’s doorstep. They have nothing to do with this.” _

_ Dick crossed his arms across his chest, his expression stoic. “Okay. You don’t need my permission. But if you ‘know the risks’, you sure aren’t acting like it. Running into the fire was one thing. But you knew you were hurt, and you still ran headfirst into a fight you weren’t prepared for. You want to help people? Try thinking about the consequences of your actions. You won’t be any help to anyone by jumping in unprepared and getting yourself killed. You’ll just make things worse, actually.” _

“So you’re saying I’m too hard on myself?” Hank grinned sheepishly at Jan, who rolled her eyes once more.

“You know very well that you’re too hard on yourself.” Jan gave a warm smile. “You are. Jason was. Scott is. I am, sometimes, as well.”

“I guess I know where I get it from, then. You two are always dropping everything to put others before yourself. It’s a heck of an example to live up to,” Hank commented, feeling a bit of the weight lift off his shoulders.

“Hank, just remember that I couldn’t be more proud of the young man you’re growing into. Scott is, too. And believe it or not, we’re proud of you even when you make mistakes.” Jan stood up, making sure to ruffle Hank’s hair quickly. Hank silently hoped it didn’t still smell like smoke.

_ Hank laid back in his bed. All the heat on his neck and in his chest had disappeared. He clasped and unclasped his hands as he lost the argument with the voice in the back of his head. He finally sighed loudly. “Ugh. You’re right.” He looked up toward Dick, offering a small, embarrassed smile. “This is going to sound stupid, but I was being insecure. I felt bad that you and the others were out defusing bombs while I sat in bed after getting blown up.” _

_ “You saved two lives before you got blown up, Hank.” Dick’s face broke into a smile. “Which made me very proud, until after getting blown up, when you decided to get beat up by Carmen Sandiego’s bodyguards.” Hank’s face became puzzled. “You know, ‘Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?’ The red trench coat?” _

_ “Showing your age, there, Nightwing.” Dick threw his hands in the air, sighing with exasperation.  _

_ “Children.” He shook his head. “Anyway, listen. Take it easy for the next few days. You’ll have work to do on Saturday night.”  _

_ “Kite work?”  _

_ “No.” Hank felt a small swell of anxiety at his mentor’s answer. Dick expressing his pride didn’t change the fact that Hank screwed up. “I need you to be my eyes and ears on the inside of Cobbelpot’s banquet. We can talk more about it later. I’ve got a lot to do. Get some rest.” _

_ “Sure.” Hank’s brief respite from feeling the weight of his mistakes ended as soon as Dick walked out of the room. _

Hank found himself frowning once again, but luckily Jan was turned away from him this time. “Okay, so how can I help? Inventory? Cleaning?”

“None of the above. You have errands to run.” Jan gave a wink, which confused Hank. The swift opening of the front door and the jingling of the attached bell interrupted his confusion.

“Come on, Duncan. We’ve got to get you a suit. Thanks again for giving him the day off, Jan.” Liz Carter stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “And we have a lot to discuss.” 


	14. Chapter 14

“Come in.” Rodger Duncan was surprised at the swift response to his knocking. At first, he only saw neatly cropped brown hair behind the desk, as the face attached to the hair was hidden behind a thick packet of white paper covered in black text and annotations in blue ink.

The paper fell to the desktop, revealing a stubbly face and blue-gray eyes. “Hi there, how can I help you?”

“Pardon the interruption, Mr. Daniels. I’m with the Wayne Foundation, and wanted to inquire about interviewing your son for the upcoming monthly newsletter.” Rodger flashed a smile. Mr. Daniels’ face was blank for a second, before he nodded quickly.

“Right, my son. Henry.” The man behind the desk spoke slowly, carefully. 

“You are Scott Daniels, correct? His legal guardian?” Rodger felt a flash of annoyance. Who was this idiot? “He received a full scholarship to Bludhaven Community College from the Wayne Foundation?”

“Yes. I am his legal guardian. And I’m aware of the scholarship.” Rodger’s patience wore even thinner.

“Would Henry be interested in talking to me for a few minutes about the scholarship?” He said, forcing himself to keep up the smile on his face. 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Scott stroked his stubbled chin. “Henry is a busy young man. What did you say your name was again?”

_ Dammit.  _ He’d been unfocused. Forgotten to properly introduce himself. “Alan Chambers. So sorry about that. It’s been a long week.”

“I’m sure. Nonprofit work can certainly take it out of you sometimes,” Scott mused. Now he was smiling, though his gray eyes didn’t crinkle. “I’m afraid Hank is going to be very busy until the end of this weekend. And he’s never been terribly talkative. I don’t know if he’d feel comfortable with an interview. I could ask him for you, but like I said, not until after this weekend.”

Rodger took a deep breath, summoning all of his patience. Obviously, he didn’t have time to wait until after this weekend. He didn’t even really have time to be here now. But ever since seeing Henry’s name—his son’s name—on that guest list, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the young man.

“I understand.” Rodger said, finally. Mary was securing the final details of their plan. He was here. He knew he shouldn’t be here, but he couldn’t help it. Rodger stared at a framed photo behind Scott’s desk. Scott and a sandy-haired boy at a baseball stadium. “Would you mind saying a few words about Henry? I need to be able to write something about him.” 

Scott drummed his fingers on his desk for a few moments. “I met Henry when he was fourteen. I adopted him when he was fifteen. He’s smart, funny, and stubborn. He doesn’t like to ask for help because he doesn’t want to be a burden, but he never hesitates to help someone else. I’m very proud of him. Bludhaven Community College will be lucky to have him.”

Rodger was quiet for a few moments, smiling to himself and continuing to stare at the photograph behind Scott’s desk. Scott suddenly frowned. “Oh, did you need to record that? Or write it down? I can say it again.”

“No, that’s okay, Mr. Daniels. Thank you.” Rodger stood and left the office without another word. 

* * *

“You know, you could just send me an email or something. We don’t  _ have _ to meet up on the roof.” Commissioner Colleen Edward paused, her face still animated by a raised eyebrow, despite being halfway obscured by the brown mug she sipped from. “Especially at 10 in the morning. With you dressed like that.” 

“Not a morning person, Commissioner?” Nightwing shot a classic grin toward the woman who previously borrowed his name. 

“I wake up at 4:30 every day, Nightwing.” Colleen replied flatly. Dick laughed from his chest, reminded how much he really liked Colleen. He shrugged his shoulders, glancing around the rooftop in the partly cloudy daylight.

As usual, it felt a bit off to be wearing his suit without the cover of nightfall, but he pushed the feeling away in favor of continuing the conversation. “Fair point. But I’m not always patient enough to wait for replies to my emails.”

“Me neither.” Colleen smiled, now, her brusque demeanor cracking just a bit. 

“Great, then let’s cut to the chase. Cobblepot’s benefit dinner at the Iceberg Lounge tonight is obviously going to be out of the Bludhaven PD’s jurisdiction, but my… associates and I think that anywhere in Metropolis, Gotham, and Bludhaven could be vulnerable.” Colleen nodded quickly, setting her mug down in favor of her notepad and pen. Nightwing handed her a small flash drive, which she accepted with a raised brow. 

“The addresses associated with all the attendees from Bludhaven,” he explained. “We know that their properties, either personal or business, have been targeted with explosives before. We don’t know exactly what to expect tonight, but we’re trying to be as prepared as possible.”

“I’ll get in contact with the bomb squad. They should be able to make their way down this list before tonight if they start now.” Commissioner Edwards finished writing with a quick flourish on her notepad. Nightwing grinned again and nodded. 

“That’s why you’re the boss. The drive has my number in it, too. In case you need to get in touch. I’ll be stationed in Gotham, but I can be here in 30 minutes, if needed.”

“It’s a 50 minute drive, and that’s if you speed.” Colleen frowned. 

“Not when you’re driving a bat plane.” Nightwing winked and jogged away toward the roof’s edge.

“Is this your personal number?” He heard her call after him. He could turn around and tell her it was just a burner, but she’d figure it out. Now all that was left to do was get to Gotham and wait.

* * *

Hank observed his reflection curiously, looking the navy blue suit up and down. He had always hated dressing up in the past, putting on baggy dress shirts and slacks donated to whatever orphanage he was in at the time. 

Luckily, Liz Carter knew better places to find clothes than thrift shops and churches. He turned around to see her blue eyes crinkle as she smiled. Though Hank hadn’t had a great past few days, that view made his worries seem awfully small. 

“Well, look at Hank Duncan. All ready for his close up.” Liz’s words made him roll his eyes, but he quickly gazed back downward at himself. 

The suit fit him perfectly, slim but not skin tight. The almond brown dress shoes were shiny, matching his belt’s hue exactly. The white dress shirt was crisp but soft against his skin, and the deep teal tie was the first one that had ever felt comfortable around his neck, instead of like he was being choked.

“I gotta say, this is really nice.” Hank murmured. He grinned back up toward Liz. “I can’t thank your family enough for renting this for me.”

“Renting? What are you talking about?” Her blonde hair bounced as Liz turned away and strode toward the cashier. “My dad says renting a suit is a scam. Besides, you’ll need one eventually, anyway. For interviews, meetings, you know, boring adult stuff.”

Henry’s eyes were wide, taking a few steps to follow her. “Your family is  _ not _ buying me a suit. I won’t take it.”

“Well it’s already paid for,” she smirked as the cashier returned a plastic card to her, “And once you wear it you can’t return it.”

“I—” Hank’s throat felt squeezed by some unknown force. He had done nothing to deserve such a gift. “I’ll pay your parents back.” 

“Yeah, we’ll see.” Liz’s eyes flashed. “Now come on, get changed and let’s get back to my place. The train for Gotham leaves in 2 hours.” 

As he changed back into sneakers, jeans and a t shirt, his head swam with emotion. So many people had been so kind to him. Giving him gifts, love, encouragement, teaching him, and what had he done in return? He felt like all he did was take from the people around him. 

“Why the long face?” Liz asked as they crossed the street. “And the short words?” Hank tilted his head as he glanced at her in momentary confusion. “Well, you know, no words. Tried to hard to be clever, there.” 

Though it wasn’t a hearty one, Hank felt a chuck in his chest, exhaling it through his nose with a small sigh. “My bad, my head was somewhere else. And it was clever—just… too clever for me, I guess.” He shrugged and offered a soft smile toward Liz. 

Liz’s eyes studied Hank’s carefully, before taking his hand as they turned the corner onto 11th Street, suddenly hit by a wall of sound. A dull roar came from a large crowd in front of them, hundreds of people facing a small stage that had been set up in the middle of the street. 

Some people held signs, others had shirts with various messages, mostly in red and blue coloring. The crowd began to quiet as an older man took the stage. A sign above his head proclaimed boldly:  _ ‘Together We Fight!’ _

“Wow, that’s Blake Perry.” Liz muttered. Hank recognized the name and quickly put it together with the face—Blake Perry was a Bludhaven mayoral candidate.

“Tonight, the streets of Bludhaven are supposed to be quieter than usual.” Began the older man on stage. He was soft spoken, and had a classic look to him, like a talk show host who was a few years from retiring. “Many of the wealthier families of our city will be attending a gala in Gotham.” The man turned to someone offstage. “Gala? Pageant? Dinner? I don’t even know what it’s supposed to be called.”

Members of the crowd laughed, and Hank looked toward Liz, who was intently focused on the speaker. Hank’s new suit, safely tucked away into a bag that hung over his shoulder, suddenly felt heavier.

“Tickets to this gala had a modest price. A $50,000 donation to Oswald Cobblepot’s charity foundation.” Perry paused. “Do any of you have $50,000 to donate?” A chorus of ‘no’, as well as booing and hissing erupted from the crowd. “Do you think the foundation of Oswald Cobblepot, a known criminal, will be making your lives better?” More boos.

Perry was an enigmatic speaker. Though he started soft and slow, his energy rose with each point he made. He went on to talk about the lives of the working class of Bludhaven, construction workers, bartenders and waiters, and factory workers. Perry promised he would fight for them to improve their lives.

“But I won’t be able to do it all by myself. I don’t want to save you. I want us to all work together. Find a reason to fight for someone next to you, even if they don’t look like you, or talk like you. Then we can all save each other.” 

The crowd once again burst into cheers. Hank glanced to Liz. “Do we need to get going? We can take 12th Street instead.” Liz met his eyes and smiled, taking the hand he offered. 

As they walked down 11th, Hank felt conflicted. A mix between inspired and guilty. He wanted to do what Perry said, to fight for people in that crowd. He could tell by looking at them that they were like so many he met while in the foster system. Despite working hard every day, society had let them down. 

He felt extra conflict when he thought of Liz. Obviously, her family was one of the ones Perry talked about. “Uh, sorry about that. You okay?” He asked. 

Her face was hard to read. Finally, it broke and she met his eyes.

“What are you sorry about?” She asked with a laugh. 

“Well… I don’t know, I feel like he was kind of talking shit on your family.” Hank frowned, and was perplexed as Liz laughed again.

“Hank, my family does have a lot of money, yes, and we  _ are _ going to Cobblepot’s dinner tonight.” Liz’s eyes were bright, with no indication of her being upset. “Do you know what my grandparents did?”

Hank scratched his neck, trying to recall, then shook his head. 

“My mom’s dad was a fisherman. Her mom worked a sewing machine for a clothing company. My dad’s parents owned a tiny diner in the slums of Gotham. They barely made any money, and whatever they did make they used to put both my parents through college.” Liz’s voice had softened. “My parents know that even though they work hard in their lives, they got lucky. So much luckier than so many people in that crowd. My mom met with Blake Perry and tried to donate to his campaign, and he said he appreciated it, but he didn’t think it would look good to take money from such a wealthy donor.”

“Really?” Henry was dumbfounded.

“My mom said he was very kind.” Liz squeezed Hank’s hand. He hadn’t even realized she had been holding it. “My family isn’t ignorant about how terrible so many wealthy people act. Half the people going to the dinner tonight are from organized crime families.”

“Huh. Well. Should be fun.” Hank was careful with his tone in his next question. “So why do they want to go?”

Liz laughed again, easing his anxiety. “Hey, maybe there will only be a bunch of creeps there, but we have to have hope that some good will come from it.” She shrugged. “Maybe people like us going will make some of the others think more about fighting for people different than them, like Perry was saying.” 

Hank felt his cheeks pull inward and upward, his dimples forcing his mouth to smile. “You’re one smart lady, Liz Carter.”


	15. Chapter 15

Everyone was in position. Bruce would be at the dinner. Tim and Barbara would be keeping watch over public spaces and landmarks, like Mayor Hady’s office and the GCPD. 

Jason and he were at the coordinates they had dubbed “Beta”, equidistant between the locations that Tim and Barbara had determined would be most likely to be in danger tonight. All he had to do was wait. 

The night air was warm and a tad sticky, thanks to the nearby bay. He wasn’t quite close enough to the water to get the benefit of the cool breezes that usually flowed off of it. He wiped an unsatisfying amount of sweat off his brow above his mask, and frowned when he still felt sticky.

Nightwing paced back and forth on the roof, unable to find a comfortable position for his hands, as he switched between clasping them together in front him and behind his back, behind his head, putting them on his hips, and gripping his biceps on top of his folded arms. 

Dick checked the clock on his mask’s HUD again. 7:02 PM. One minute since he last checked. He focused on the smaller numbers of the seconds display.  _ 28, 29, 30, 31 _ … A tight smile formed on his face. So, actually, a minute and a half had passed.

A quiet whistling sound drifted into his ears, coming from Jason. The sound was breathy, not full, almost not even qualifying as whistling, and it didn’t seem to be pursuing a melody or tune. Dick took a long breath of the night air, and exhaled it slowly through his nose.

_ Yep. All we have to do now is wait. _

The issue was, of course, that Dick couldn’t stand waiting. “How’s everything look, Tim?” 

“Probably the same as the last time you asked, man.” Jason had taken a seat on the edge of the Elliott Memorial Hospital’s roof. Dick shot a glare toward the Red Hood, but couldn’t snap at him due to Tim in his ear.

“It’s all good,  _ Nightwing _ .” Tim didn’t quite sound irritated, but his tone was clearly betraying some forced patience. “It’s going to be fine, ‘Wing. We’re more prepared than we usually are for something like this.”

Dick nodded his head. He thought about the conversation with Alistair that he and Bruce had just a few days ago. He wasn’t sure what caused the thief to stop working with Rodger and Mary, but he appreciated that they’d be stripped of one more resource. Batman warned him early on in his career that the issue with forcing a villain to change their plan was it gave them an opportunity to be unpredictable.

“Hello? ‘Wing?”

“Err. Thanks, Ti—Red Robin, sorry. I nodded.” Dick shook his head, chuckling a little at himself.

“I just got into the Lounge’s security feed. There are 3 security checkpoints to get through before anyone can get inside.” Babs’ voice tickled Dick’s ear. “The extra help from Gotham PD should have everyone feeling much safer, except for maybe the Penguin.” 

Dick’s mouth quirked for a moment as he processed the information. “Maybe, but he probably—”

“He probably has most of the police in his pocket, I know. But, you know, in a perfect world he’d be scared.” Dick turned his head to look across the city at the bright lights waving around the Iceberg Lounge, then to the GCPD building. A small smile appeared on his face as he thought of Barbara keeping watch on the roof of the parking garage across the street. 

“You took the words right out of my mouth, BG. Thanks for the report, you two. Everything’s good on our end so far, as well.”

“It’s not  _ all  _ good. Dick’s being annoying.” Dick turned toward Jason’s voice as he heard it behind him, wincing as it also echoed in his earpiece. He was about to respond, but was interrupted by another voice.

“A lot of chatter on the comms.” Bruce spoke in a low, measured tone. “Penny One and I are arriving at the first security checkpoint. Will report back in 20 minutes after I’m inside.”

“Thanks Br—” 

“Codenames only on the comms, please.” Dick smacked his forehead and stifled a groan.

“Well you’re not…  _ dressed  _ for your codename, so what do we even call you?” He snapped back.

“I’m afraid he’s gone offline, sir, as he is moving through the first checkpoint.” Alfred, as always, was the mediator and voice of reason. “I will stay close, on standby for instructions.” 

“ _ I _ know what to call him.” Jason muttered snarkily. Dick bit his lip as it curled into a smile.  _ I love family time. _

* * *

The train ride to Gotham had been nice. Being with the Carter family was always a convincing illusion of a more normal life. Playing ‘I Spy’ and other silly games, and listening to George tell funny stories from all his times riding the train when he was in college made Hank feel like he was part of one of the families he watched on dumb sitcom shows as a kid. 

Hank had lost track of how many times he said “thank you”. Hopefully he wasn’t being too annoying.

They stopped at the Gotham City Royal Hotel to check in and change clothes. Hank had stayed in a hotel—actually, a motel—once before when Scott took him on a hiking trip to Maine. 

Maybe it was childish, but he was excited to sleep on a pull-out couch and eat another continental breakfast. He was surprised to learn that the Royal wasn’t equipped with pull-out couches, and was even more shocked when Elaine handed him a card key to his own room, adjoining the Carters’ two-bed suite. 

“You really don’t have to do this, Mrs.—err—Elaine. I am fine on a couch, or I could just take the train back to Bludhaven tonight.” He stammered.

“Absolutely not, Hank. You’re Liz’s guest, and you’re  _ our _ guest tonight. And we do not let guests sleep on couches.” Elaine gave him a wink as she flipped a strand of blonde curls behind her shoulder.

“Plus, you’d get no sleep if you shared our room. My wife, god bless her, her snoring is simply—hey!” George’s blue eyes sparkled even after his wife slapped his shoulder. He rubbed it gingerly, flashing a smile Hank’s way. 

The scene, along with hearing Liz’s laughter, caused Hank to bubble into his own laughter, more like giggles. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and tried to pitch his voice down, his eyes wide with surprise at himself. He regained control and offered a soft smile. 

“Wow. Well thank you again.” He said, quickly unlocking his door and stepping into his room. Though he was amazed by it, he knew he would have to admire it later so he could get changed.

He carefully removed each piece of his suit from the travel bag that came with it. Hank’s mind drifted to imagine different scenarios he could be faced with through the evening.

He found himself staring at the off-white mask in his hand, his thumbs tracing the plumage-like flecks of brown on it. He wasn’t in the vigilante doghouse anymore, but he was pretty sure Dick would not be happy to know he packed a mask.

“Just in case. Only for emergencies.” He muttered to himself. 

“You talking to yourself, Duncan?” Hank whirled around, resisting the urge to jump at the surprising voice of Liz Carter. She was smiling, and somehow already dressed. 

Her wavy blonde hair was halfway done up into a bun, with the remainder flowing down like a waterfall on one side. A simple, tasteful golden necklace adorned her collarbone, perfectly matching her small dangling earrings. The slim cerulean gown made her eyes bluer than he’d ever seen.

Hank blinked hard. He suddenly felt incredibly out of place. “You look like a movie star.” He shifted his jaw awkwardly, unsatisfied with his words _ . Smooth as always. _ What—what—how did you get dressed so fast?”

“What, in this old thing?” The spray of freckles on the bridge of her nose crinkled with her smile. “I have lots of practice getting ready fast. Going from volleyball practice to Student Council executive meetings will do that. Plus, It’s been like 20 minutes.” Hank felt his cheeks push upward in a grin. 

Liz raised an eyebrow and slowly gave him a once over. He followed her eyes and realized he was only wearing his suit pants. He quickly turned his back to her, tossing his mask on the dresser, and threw the white shirt on, buttoning it furiously. “How did you get in here?” 

“You have to lock the adjoining door, doofus.” In the mirror, Hank saw her roll her eyes and pick up his mask. “So.”

Hank grimaced. He knew this conversation was coming, and wasn’t exactly trying to avoid it.  _ Also not  _ not _ trying... _ He hadn’t been looking forward to it. “How long?” He heard Liz’s voice behind him. He stopped buttoning his shirt.

“About three months. Well, actually, pretty much since the beginning of the year. But three months officially.”

“Officially?” Liz had one brow raised, and her blue eyes were dark with curiosity, maybe irritation as well. Hank moved quickly to lock the adjoining door then back to take the mask from her hands and put it back on the dresser. 

“Like,  _ with Nightwing _ .” Hank sighed. 

“Why? Why on earth do you do this? And what do you mean you did it  _ before  _ Nightwing?” Liz folded her arms across her chest.

“Okay, so the thing is that we usually try to keep our voices down when we talk about—” 

“Henry.” Hank met her eyes briefly and looked down.

“One night after work, Jan was going to deposit some money in the bank. It was really important, because the Union had been struggling, and she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to keep it open.” Liz’s eyes had softened a bit when he looked back up at them. He continued. “I was with her. We got mugged, sort of. Then Nightwing showed up, took down three guys like it was nothing, and—well, I got lucky and managed not to get too hurt fighting one of them.” 

He trailed off for a moment, as suddenly Liz’s hands were on his chest. He blinked, smelling strawberries. She was unbuttoning his shirt. Hank coughed loudly into his shoulder. She rolled her eyes without meeting his.

“Your buttons were crooked. Don’t get any funny ideas, there, Kite.” 

“Once again, ix-nay on the Ite-Kay.” Her eyes briefly glanced up at his before returning to his shirt buttons. They looked annoyed, but also shone brighter than before. “Well, I asked Nightwing the same question you asked me. ‘Why?’ He told me he was just a guy trying to help. And, I don’t know, I thought maybe I could also be that. A guy trying to help.”

“By punching people?”

“Well, sometimes kicking.” Hank breathed in sharply as one of her fingers touched scar on his chest, exposed by his now unbuttoned shirt. He looked down. His torso looked, frankly, horrible. Bruised in some places, scarred in others, the right side swollen more than the left thanks to his two cracked ribs.

“And nearly getting killed.” She muttered.

“What’s your point, Liz?” Hank was suddenly on the defensive. The words came out harsher than he meant, but he was sick of explaining himself to people. Her blue eyes narrowed, dark once again, and rose steadily to meet his green ones. 

He was grateful that his dress shoes gave him an extra inch of height so he still stood two inches taller than her in heels. “Who are you helping, Henry?”

“Anyone who needs it, Elizabeth.”  _ I can do full names, too.  _ He turned away again, buttoning his shirt more carefully this time and tucking it in. He knotted his tie lazily, in a rush, and threw on his jacket.

“But  _ are  _ you helping?” Liz’s voice wasn’t combative now. He immediately felt horrible. She was just concerned. He slowly took one of her hands. 

“Honestly, I don’t always know. It seemed clear at first, you know? Easy. But things got complicated quickly. Less black and white, more gray.” Hank set his jaw. “Now… I mean you’re right.  _ Is _ punching and kicking actually helping? If I beat someone up for robbing a bank just because they lost their job and are trying to feed their family, is  _ that _ helping?” His eyes felt wet. “But I just—I can’t see things happen and not do something. Why do  _ I  _ deserve free suits, or fancy hotel rooms and dinners?" His cleared his throat hard, quieting his voice. "Why do other people get shot just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? How is that fair?”

“Hank.” Suddenly, he was being kissed.  _ When do I start being ready for these? _ She pulled away, looking him in the eyes. “You’re being awfully hard on yourself. Especially for a guy who’s a hundred times more giving than most people, even when he might not have as much to give."

He breathed for a moment. Not sure what to say. “Thanks, Liz.” She straightened his tie.

There was a knock on Hank’s door. “You two okay in there?” George Carter’s voice rang in Hank’s ears, slightly muffled by the door. 

“Hank was having a breakdown about his outfit, but he’s good now!” Liz called. One of her hands gently pulled his suit jacket away from his chest, so the other could grab his mask and slip it into the pocket on the inside. “Coming, Dad!”


	16. Chapter 16

Fancy parties, Hank had learned, were weird. Apparently, having a lot of money did not mean someone was a normal and well-adjusted member of society. If anything, it might have meant the opposite. 

To get into the Iceberg Lounge, Hank had spoken to 6 different security guards, was patted down twice, and walked through three metal detectors. The security experience ended up being probably the least strange thing he’d encountered that evening.

He had been people watching with Liz for 30 minutes while her mother and father made rounds through the Lounge, talking to friends and acquaintances. The young pair had been approached by all sorts of people, using vague words to ask them how much money they had and how they had acquired it.

Hank said as little as possible to them. He was on edge, though Liz was trying hard to make him feel more comfortable. She tried to get him to laugh by making up a different story for each new stranger who engaged them in conversation.

“Well, Cory here is a bit of a genius. He recently invented a new kind of soap.”

“We both work in finance. Met on the trading room floor. Stewart was so cute when he was screaming into his phone. ‘ _ Dammit, Murray, I said sell! Sell, sell, sell!’” _

“My fiance, James, is a ghostwriter. He’s too humble to take credit, but he wrote most of that new dystopian series. Me, I’m an exotic dancer. James is so supportive.” She kissed his cheek, and she finally got him with that last one, and he bit his tongue hard to keep from bursting into laughter.

Liz sipped some champagne, which she accepted after the fourth stranger offered them drinks, insisting that the drinking laws didn’t apply to this party. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, thinking over the taste. “You sure you don’t want some of this? It’s kind of sour but also sweet, and the bubbles tickle your throat.”

“Trying to get me drunk, Elizabeth?” He raised his eyebrows dramatically at her. She simply shrugged and looked away, very innocently, earning a snort from him. “I’m good with water for now, but the night is young.”

He did another once over of the room, taking in the dull roar of a hundred conversations happening at once, mixed with the tinkling keys of the large piano in the middle of the room.

The people in the room were mostly white, but there was a wide variety of them in terms of appearance. All different shapes and sizes. 

Hank looked for any outliers or strange behavior, and frowned, realizing that here,  _ he _ was an outlier, and that almost everyone’s behavior was strange to him.

_ “We’ve pulled some strings and put you and Liz’s family in the Aurora Borealis Room. That’s where Oswald Cobblepot will be for most of the night, so you all should be very safe.” Hank had offered to meet with Dick in person for the briefing, but Dick opted for a phone conversation. We’re not exactly sure what could be going down, if anything, but we doubt Penguin will risk being in the same room as any action.” _

_ “Strong self preservation instincts, got it.” Hank smirked through the phone even though he knew his mentor couldn’t see it. Apparently Dick didn’t catch his attempt at humor, because he continued on without acknowledging it. _

_ “We’re going to be spread pretty thin tonight, but I know you have a lot going on, too. So you’re  _ only _ responsible for the people in that room with you, got it?” The question was obviously rhetorical, but Hank was eager to answer it anyway. _

_ “Yes sir.”  _

_ “And to be clear, ‘responsible’ means that you keep your eyes peeled for any trouble in that room, and if you see it you contact me and Batgirl. That’s it. No heroics, no fighting, you just get yourself and the Carters out, and hope that people will follow you.” Once again, this was not one of the times when Dick was looking for Hank’s input on the matter. _

_ “You got it, boss.” _

_ “Good. Be safe, kid, and have some fun, will you?” _

Hank’s mouth quirked. Well, at least he was doing the last part, thanks to Liz. He quickly glanced over to her, trying not to think too much about how well her dress fit her, and pecked her on the cheek. She continued sending a text, but smiled and rolled her eyes, pausing for half a moment on their way up to make contact with his own.

He resumed looking around the Aurora Borealis Room. He tapped his foot against the pale marble floor, observing the small aquarium next to the large black piano. 

He turned to his right, gazing over Liz’s blonde bun to the many tables adorned with black tablecloth and pale blue leather chairs, organized in front of a small, simple stage. Behind him, a balcony jutted out over the main hall of the Iceberg Lounge. 

Tinted windows prevented anyone on the lower floor from seeing into the VIP Aurora Borealis Room. Another odd quirk of the ultra wealthy, Hank figured, was wanting to be able to look down on the commoners without them knowing. 

He was relieved to know that landing in the VIP section was news to Liz’s family. George and Elaine both gave each other a quick look, before shrugging. ‘We’ll take it.’ Elaine said, turning back to wink at Liz and Hank.

Hank began to wonder what kind of strings Nightwing had pulled to make the change in seating of the Carters, but his thoughts were interrupted. 

“Hey, Hank—” He glanced quickly at Liz, whose gaze was just above his head, behind him. She had stopped speaking when a deep, warm voice interrupted her.

“You must be Henry Duncan, correct?” 

* * *

“Okay, I have a question.” 

“What’s up, Jay?” Dick glanced toward his brother, once again feeling especially thankful that he had become closer with the family once again. Obviously, it wasn’t exactly the perfect family dynamic, and Dick couldn’t speak for the others, but he knew that  _ he _ felt a void when Jason was missing. 

“Hmm. I’m trying to think of how to phrase this carefully.” Dick widened his eyes in mock surprise.

“Who are you and what have you done with—” Jason cut him off.

“Okay fine, you had your chance for me to be nice about this.” Dick raised his hands in surrender at his brother’s snappy words. “Do you…  _ remember _ , Ric?”

Dick furrowed his brow, and without thinking, touched the scar tissue on the side of his head where he had been wounded by a bullet. He didn’t  _ love _ talking about  _ Ric. _ However, Jason, of all people, might be able to offer more understanding on the situation. 

Dick hadn’t exactly died and come back to life, but in a way, he sort of did. He paused for a moment. “Sort of. Ric initially didn’t have most of his memory, so he—err—I? This is hard.” Jason said nothing, but nodded. Nightwing appreciated that the Red Hood’s new look allowed him to see more of his facial expressions. “I remembered the beginning of my life up until my parents died, and then things went dark, until after the whole bullet in the head thing.”

“Sure. But what about now?” Red Hood stared intently at his brother.

“Eventually, when I was still Ric, Talon started messing with my brain, feeding me false memories to fill in that gap. And  _ then _ when I finally snapped out of all of it, it took me a while to put the pieces of the puzzle together, since there were a bunch of fake pieces, even though they felt real just as real as… well, the real ones.”

Jason gave a sober nod. “After the Lazarus Pit, I had to do more or less the same thing. For a long time it was hard for me to accept that I was truly the same person I was when I… when the Joker… when I died before.” Dick moved to put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. It was in Jason’s nature to be blunt. It was rare to see him speak apprehensively. 

Jason removed Dick’s hand from his shoulder, but the look on his face, even obscured by the red mask, was not one of irritation or anger. Dick quietly cleared his throat, looking out over the city to catch a breath. “Have you ever had a dream that’s so boring and realistic, just like a normal day, that when you wake up—”

“You have to think for a sec about if it was a dream or if it really happened.” Jason was himself again, nodding with more enthusiasm than before.

“Exact—” The roar of an explosion interrupted Dick, who whirled toward the sound and sprung to the edge of the roof, feeling Jason right by his side. “Talk to me, R.R. What's going on?” 

Another  _ BOOM _ reverberated through the night air, this one further away from Dick, who glanced toward Jason nervously. Red Hood’s jaw was clenched, one hand gripping the pistol holstered at his right hip.

“Red? Red Robin? Batgirl? Are you there?”

* * *

“Everything is in place, Mary. How are you doing?” Mary Duncan’s thoughts were interrupted by her husband’s words. She glanced toward him, then back to the screen in front of her, featuring a security camera view of the Iceberg Lounge.

“I… am fine. But Rodger, do you think…” She looked back into his brown eyes. He opened his mouth, but then closed it, instead taking a step toward her and taking her hand. “Are you sure about this plan?” She finally asked.

“We’ve done this for fifteen years, now, Mary. Don’t you think it’s time we take real action?” Mary frowned at her husband’s words.

“Our actions before weren’t  _ real? _ ” She folded her arms across her chest, and Rodger exhaled through his nose. 

“Well. No, they were real. I mean, how many people did we help? But I was thinking the other day, about the long term. Sure, we set a fire in a factory or plant, and we get the workers some time off and compensation, and a safer working environment in the future.” Rodger’s left hand was animated by his words. “But, in the long run, the factory gets rebuilt, usually bigger and ‘better’ and then keeps exploiting even more workers, and making money for the people on top.” 

Mary nodded. “Right, we talked about this already. But as we established, we  _ know _ that doing what we usually do  _ works. _ It  _ does _ help people who need it. It’s safe. It’s proven. We’re  _ good at it _ .” 

“Mary Christine Duncan. You’ve never been one to shy away from risks before!” Rodger’s eyes gleamed with humor, then became more serious. “... _ And _ we’ve run the tests, we’ve taken precautions. This will be safe. It has to be.” 

“You know  _ exactly _ why I am not a fan of risks tonight, Rodger.” Mary’s voice came out in a fierce whisper. “I was fine changing things up and working with the Fire Stations, the Thieves, even with the damn  _ Penguin _ . I compromised because I trust you, and you had good reasoning for your plans.” She took her husband’s hand, and searched his eyes once more.

When she spoke again, she was no longer whispering. Her tone was measured, but her words radiated intensity. “Now,  _ you _ trust  _ me _ . There are some things, on which I  _ will not _ compromise.” 

Rodger looked at his wife for a moment before slowly nodding his head. “I understand.” 

Mary started to turn back to the monitor, but a vibration in her pocket stole her attention. She pulled out the small flip phone, recognizing the number instantly. She nodded at Rodger, mouthing ‘It’s time.’ before clicking  _ talk _ . 

“Hello, Oswald.”


	17. Chapter 17

“You must be Henry Duncan, correct?” 

“Uh, hi.” The blue eyes seemed to show recognition and warmth, but when Hank looked at the rest of the tall, dark haired man, he wasn’t sure who he was looking at. There was something familiar about him, but not enough for Hank to pair a name to his face. “I’m so sorry. I—err, have we met?” 

The man gave a polite smile and shook his head. Hank heard a quiet rumble of laughter—more like just one laugh, as he exhaled through his nose. “You’re absolutely right. We haven’t met. I apologize. I’m Bruce Wayne.” 

Hank’s eyes widened, moving from Bruce Wayne’s carefree smile downward across the dark charcoal fabric of his suit jacket, following the line of his arm to his extended hand. _ Right. A handshake. _

“Ahh… It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne.” Hank had solved the mystery of whose hand he was shaking, but was still confused on why it was happening. _ Why is a billionaire shaking my hand right now? And why does he know who I am? _He realized that he didn’t know very much about Bruce Wayne. Celebrities and tabloids were never really his thing.

Hank blinked and withdrew his arm, hoping the handshake hadn’t gone on for too long. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I’m being rude. This is Elizabeth Carter.” Hank tried not to seem unsettled while introducing his date.

“So nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne.” As had been the case all night, Liz was clearly more comfortable than Hank. Bruce Wayne gave another warm smile, gently but firmly shaking Liz’s hand. 

“And a pleasure to meet you, Elizabeth.” This guy was almost annoyingly carefree. His voice and movements were effortless, not lazy, not impolite, but like never needed to think about anything twice.

_ Guess tall, handsome billionaires probably don’t have much to worry about. _Hank thought.

“How do you know Henry?” Hank glanced toward Liz as she asked the question. Hank’s eyes widened again as he shot a look to Liz for asking such a direct question, but she casually sipped her champagne, not paying him any mind. 

Only the corner of Bruce Wayne’s mouth quirked, almost imperceptibly. Was he annoyed? Amused? Surprised? It was impossible to tell. 

“Henry was awarded a scholarship by my foundation, Ms. Carter. I try to make it a point to seek out scholarship recipients and congratulate them.” He turned toward Henry, offering another smile and placing a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “So, congratulations, Henry.” 

Hank gave a warm smile back, though he was still thrown off by Wayne’s presence. “Right… the scholarship.” Hank had completely forgotten about the letter from the Wayne foundation that Scott made him open. “Thank you so much, Mr. Wayne. It means a lot to me, of course, and—well, I think it’s great that you are willing to help out someone like me, even when I didn’t do much to deserve it.” 

Bruce Wayne’s mouth quirked again, as he removed his hand from Hank’s shoulder. Or at least, Hank was pretty sure it did. “Well I don’t know about that, Henry. I know the scholarship board very well, and they even showed me your application. From what I can see, someone like you is more than deserving of some help from time to time.” Wayne glanced back toward Liz with a nod. “It was lovely meeting both of you, but I’m afraid I have to go see some other folks here.”

Hank and Liz both thanked Wayne again as he turned away with a wink. “Wow. Bruce Wayne, huh?” Liz was smiling toward Hank, which he generally would love to see, but he still felt halfway in a daze. He shook his head quickly.

“Yeah. Wow. Did he seem weird to you?”

A few minutes later, an announcement called for dinner. It was probably the best salmon that he had ever tasted, but he couldn’t quite savor it. Hank mostly stayed quiet, sitting between Liz and Elaine, with George to Elaine’s left.

Another family, the Barnes’s, accompanied them. They had a son and daughter a few years younger than Hank. He tried to keep up with polite smiles and acknowledgements whenever he was addressed, but he was seriously distracted.

A table over from him, Bruce Wayne seemed to be the life of the party, with a beautiful woman on either side of him. Despite people hanging onto his every word, he was still effortless and reserved. Hank’s mind was racing, trying to string together various memories. 

When he opened the scholarship letter, he was of course happy to have the financial help for school in the fall, but he had trouble remembering when applied for the scholarship. Hank wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth (though he still didn’t quite know exactly what that phrase meant.)

He was sure he didn’t remember filling out an application. But why did it seem familiar to him when he got the letter? Scott was completely surprised, and expressed pride in Henry for taking initiative and applying.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I must thank you all so much for attending tonight.” A short, round man had taken a stance behind the small podium onstage, speaking in a thick cockney accent. “I apologize for my late arrival, I had to address the folks downstairs. You know how they can get out of hand.” A chorus of chortles from the crowd brought a smile (maybe more of a sneer) to the man’s face.

Hank recognized Oswald Cobblepot from case files Dick had him read. Old money. Disfigured. Wears a monocle. Selfish, greedy, and desperate for approval from Gotham’s high society folks. Tonight, it seemed he had expanded that desperation to include Bludhaven and Metropolis.

“Tonight, we have raised over one million dollars for the education of Gotham’s underprivileged youth.” A round of applause. Hank would have been more irritated by Cobblepot’s voice if his head were clearer. “And... I will be matching that total _ twice over _, so as to expand the Cobblepot Foundation’s reach to Bludhaven and Metropolis.” More applause.

The guy was his own brand of organized crime, that’s for sure. The whole ‘Penguin’ aesthetic seemed pretty strange to Hank, but Dick assured him that once he encountered a few themed criminals, he would get used to it quickly. 

Hank was absentmindedly clapping his hands, but stopped when he saw Bruce Wayne stop. Wayne was still taking a large fraction of Kite’s attention. What was with that guy? 

It dawned on him that many people around him were still clapping. Apparently Wayne was less impressed with Cobblepot’s Foundation than others. _ Hmm _ . Hank recalled some information in the Penguin case files that mentioned old, bad blood between the Cobblepots and Waynes. Maybe Bruce Wayne _ did _ have a care in the world after all.

Hank turned absentmindedly back toward Cobblepot, who was continuing to speak about what would be done with the donations raised tonight. Hank noticed that the monocled man’s expression changed for a moment, and though he continued speaking, he touched a finger to his right ear. 

He had seen a similar motion from Nightwing before, when his mentor was surprised by someone’s voice in his earpiece. Suddenly, Hank’s mind cleared up. Why did Penguin have an earpiece in?

Hank’s hand shot to his pants pocket, grasping the cell phone given to him by Nightwing, meanwhile his head swiveled side to side, searching the surrounding area. Most people were in their pale blue leather seats. Tuxedo-clad servers and bartenders were quietly working so as not to interrupt the speech, which Hank had begun tuning into once again.

“Well, once again, I cannot express enough gratitude to all of you for attending tonight.”

Security guards stood at their posts. Hank caught one touching his ear like Cobblepot had earlier, but Hank wrote it off. It was normal for Security to be on communication devices.

“Please enjoy the dessert, and the rest of the evening.” And with that, Hank turned back to see Cobblepot waddle off the stage. Unfortunately, it was truly the best way to describe the way the man moved. 

Pushing away a snort, Hank caught a flash of motion in his peripherals, and swiveled his gaze toward it. Bruce Wayne was enthralling the woman on his left with his conversation. Hank blinked. He must have imagined Wayne looking at him.

“Well, how’s the dinner, Hank?” George Carter’s voice brought Hank back to the world of the waking. Hank flashed a smile toward the salt-and-pepper-haired man.

“It was fantastic, George. I’m psyched for dessert.” George raised his eyebrows and grinned. 

“I didn’t realize _ ‘psyched’ _ was back in the cool kids’ vernacular.” Hank’s response was too slow, and Liz had already piped up.

“_ The cool kids’ vernacular?” _Liz’s giggles spread to the rest of the table. “Come on, Dad. That’s not a thing. And if it were, Hank wouldn’t know.” She leaned forward and shifted to a stage-whisper, using her hand to obscure her mouth from Hank’s view. “He’s not cool.” 

Hank felt more laughter pulled straight from his diaphragm, smiling wide. He felt Elaine pat his shoulder. “Well I think you’re cool, Hank.” He turned toward her, throat still rumbling with laughter, and began to say ‘thank you’.

_ POP POP. _Hank’s eyes widened and his head snapped toward the noise. Glass shattered. A murmur started to erupt from the crowd, but was drowned out by the sound of an explosion. 

_ BOOM. _ Hank heard screams from multiple directions around him. He had already stood up. _ BOOM. _ Another explosion, this one sounded closer. Hank’s mind raced once again, and he reached for his phone.

“EVERYBODY DOWN ON THE GROUND. WE _ WILL _SHOOT.” 

Hank began tapping his screen furiously, unlocking his phone, finding the contact labeled _NW_ and beginning a message. 

_ “Gunshots at Lounge. 2 explosions. Hostage situa” _

Hank’s fingers stopped when he felt cold metal press against the back of his head. “_ Hank!” _ Liz was stage whispering again.

“_Hank_, was it? I’ll need you to give me that phone, Hank.”

* * *

“RED ROBIN!” Dick urgently shouted into his commpiece, eyes wild and frenzied. Static buzzed in his ear.

“We’re both good, Nightwing. You guys good?” Relief washed over Dick upon hearing Tim’s voice. 

“Yes. What’s happening?”

“Explosion at Elliott Memorial Hospital, and another… looks like somewhere in the subway tunnels.” Barbara was calm, which helped Dick to take a breath and calm down as well. “You two are closer to the hospital. There’s a subway entrance right near us.”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us.” Jason announced. Red Hood turned toward Elliott Memorial Hospital, clicking his gauntlet. Dick realized his brother was signaling his motorcycle. And quickly did the same.

“Okay. You two take the subway. Wear your gas masks and make sure you always have an exit to the surface nearby. Nightwing out.” 

“Roger.” Tim cut off his own voice with a _ click _ of his comm piece. 

Dick followed Jason as he leapt off the roof, both former Robins turning in unison to fire their grapples at the building and rappel down. The bikes were waiting for them when they got to the ground. And the sound of the night was overpowered by engine revving as they raced toward the hospital.

Dick put his helmet on while driving—Alfred would have given him an earful for that, but Alred wasn’t there at the moment. _ Alfred! _ Dick chastised himself for forgetting about the butler who helped raise him. He tapped his helmet and fired up it’s built-in commlink.

“Penny-One, you alright?”

“I am afraid not, sir.” Alfred’s voice was strained. “I’ve just heard gunshots from inside the Iceberg Lounge, and Batman is not responding.” 

_ Jesus. _ Nightwing grit his teeth. _ Bruce. Hank! _His mind flashed with worries for his protege. 

“Any way you can try to get a visual of inside the lounge, Penny-One? Batgirl was hacked into its security feed earlier.”

“Unfortunately, sir, I tried that already. The cameras show nothing but static. I am equipped to potentially advance on foot.” 

“Shit. Okay. Well, just be careful. First sign of trouble, and you get back to the car.” Dick was developing a migraine, thinking of his family in danger.

“With all due respect, sir, my son is in that building. And he needs his suit.”

Alfred’s words made Dick smile, briefly. Alfred always blamed Bruce for the stubbornness that was shared by nearly every member of the family, but he may have been just as responsible. 

“You do what you need to do, Penny-One.”

“He’ll be fine, ‘Wing. What’s the plan?” Nightwing nodded at Red Hood’s voice in his helmet, appreciative that Jason was there to keep him grounded. 

“The Fire Department should already be on the way. We start at the top floor and work our way down. People on the lower floors will be more likely to get out on their own.” Dick’s eyes fell on the Elliott Memorial Hospital. Smoke was already pouring out of the midsection of the building.

“Cool.” Jason’s affirmation was simple. His next move was not. Red Hood fired his grapple while still on his bike, and as it snagged on an upcoming building, he allowed his forward momentum to carry him upward. 

He was lifted off of his bike and into the air, swinging like a pendulum. Just before reaching the peak of his swing, he retracted the grapple, soaring through the air before firing it again at the Hospital. 

Dick didn’t have much time to be impressed. He figured with his aerial training, he should be able to manage a similar maneuver. Dick fired his grapple as Jason had, and soared into the air, twisting as he flew to fire again at Elliott Memorial. 

He swung toward a window on the top floor that Jason had already shattered with a shot from his pistol, and gracefully rolled in for his landing. Dick’s eyes instantly stung from smoke, which had already made its way to the top floor. 

Dick followed Jason as he ran down the hall, quickly looking into each room on the left. Dick took the right side of the hallway. He found no one in any of the rooms, but paused to listen closely, trying to detect any cries rising over the dull crackling of flames.

“Nightwing.” Red Hood emerged from a room with a woman in scrubs over his shoulder, meanwhile holding the hand of a small, scared child. Instinct took over for Dick. 

“Hi there. You know Batman?” He knelt to reach eye-level with the little girl, tapping the side of his mask to retract his whiteout lenses, so his eyes were visible. 

“Yeah.” The child said in a quiet voice.

“We’re friends of his. Want to come with us?” The young girl nodded, her blonde hair bouncing. Nighting grabbed her and slung her around his back, instructing her to hold on tight to his neck. Dick whirled around and ran toward the open window, leaping out of it and firing his grapple upward and behind him, letting it extend to its maximum length so he could deliver the young girl safely to the ground. 

Red Hood landed next to him with a light thud. “You stay here and call for help, okay?” Jason spoke softly to the girl. She nodded again and took a deep breath.

“Heellllp!” 

Dick glanced to his brother. “One floor down. Ready to get back in there?” 

Jason used one hand to readjust his hood, needing the other to hold onto his grapple. “Race you there.” 

With a _ click _ and _ whirr _ , Red Hood was whisked through the air. Dick took a deep breath and clicked his own grapple’s retract button. _ Whiiirrrrrrrrrr. _

* * *

Tim followed Barbara, both of them careful with their movements. If they moved too quickly they could end up running out of oxygen. A cloud of smoke already billowed across the ceiling of the subway. 

It was several feet above them at the moment, but it was only a matter of time before the cloud expanded to eclipse their eyes and airways. Tim noted the creaking of pipes in the wall beside him. 

They hadn’t reached the source of the smoke yet, but if one of the old pipes of the subway sprung a leak, the whole tunnel system could go up in flames. 

Since entering the subway on platform 21, they had walked through three tunnels and three platforms. The current tunnel was their fourth, and based on their current pace, Tim knew they were coming up on platform 17. 

Barbara paused for a moment, and Tim nearly bumped into her. She turned back to him and motioned with her hands to look past her. Tim saw an orange glow flickering ahead, where the tunnel opened up and met the platform area.

Tim nodded and flashed her a hand signal to suggest a plan of attack. Barbara nodded back, her green eyes lit up partially by the nearby flames, and partially by determination. Red Robin adjusted his oxygen filter quickly, and fell in line behind her.

Tim took in the sight of platform 17. Flames bloomed in patches all over the open area. Several figures roamed the platform, easily navigating through the flames, sporting dark jumpsuits, which must have been flame retardant. Tim blinked as the image before him shimmered due to the heat. He realized the jumpsuits were not just walking through the blaze, they were _ adding to it _. Each of the figures was armed with a flamethrower. 

Barbara grabbed his shoulder, and pointed toward a large blaze on the tracks ahead of them, just before the open air transitioned into another claustrophobic tunnel. Tim wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at, then had to resist the urge to let his jaw drop so his mask wouldn’t fall and expose him to the smoke.

Behind the hungry flames, still inside the tunnel, was a subway car. Red Robin nodded in acknowledgement and signed to Batgirl, wondering if anyone was inside the train. Barbara shook her head. It was impossible to see details past the fire, smoke, and shimmering heat. 

She signed a new plan. _ Take out the jumpsuits. Find a way to control the fire. Get to the train and save anyone inside. _

Simple enough. Red Robin nodded and stalked silently toward the east side of the platform, near the stairs. Two of the jumpsuits were away from the flames, seeming to be in conversation. As he got closer, he realized one was a man and the other was a woman. 

Tim flung a batarang behind them, causing a small clanging noise when it hit a turnstile. He hoped it wouldn’t alert the rest of the jumpsuits, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. As the jumpsuits turned toward the sound, Tim extended his bo staff, jabbing one end forward into the back of the man’s leg and knocking him onto his knees, then twirling it around to connect with the woman’s back with a _ clunk _. 

He drove his elbow into the man’s temple, hearing them crumple behind him as he whirled around. He saw Batgirl springing and flipping through the flames that licked at the floor, utilizing every bit of her skill as a gymnast. 

A jumpsuit happened to turn around and notice her, and Tim started to yell a warning, but before he could, she’d flung a bola that tied itself around the jumspsuit’s legs. The man (Tim assumed) with a loud thud (too loud for the average woman), and the flamethrower clattered against the floor, adding to the noise.

Tim sprung into action upon hearing the noise. He and Barbara had the greatest advantage when they weren’t detected, and Tim figured the remaining jumpsuits would be on alert after the loud noise. 

He knew they still mostly had the upper hand. Even with the blaze providing lighting, the subway was akin to twilight at best, especially with the smoke and heat obscuring vision further. The thing about being a bat is that bats can be aware of their surroundings even with impaired vision. 

As Red Robin downed another jumpsuited figure with his bo staff, in the corner of his eye he caught Batgirl leaping over a pile of flames and smashing her foot into the head of another across the room. 

Tim closed the gap on the final jumpsuit remaining, flinging two batarangs toward them. They connected with his intended target, the flamethrower. A high pitched whistle screamed out from the damaged weapon. Though their head was obscured by a mask that reminded Tim of what welders wear, he could see the jumpsuit look down at the weapon and back at him. 

He thought about shouting to drop it, knowing it would explode, but the suit didn’t need the advice. With a great heave, they tossed it forward at Tim, and time slowed down for a moment as he saw a blossom of fire burst out of the weapon.

Tim instinctively whipped his cape in front of his body to protect himself, but he was still knocked backward by the explosion’s shockwave. He hit the ground hard with an “_ Ooff!” _

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his vision finally refocused. His ears were ringing, but something was interrupting the ring. _ What? _ “Tim. Tim! _ TIM!” _Batgirl was suddenly helping him stand up. 

She’d lost her breathing mask. He wasn’t sure where his was either. The ringing in his ears wasn’t quite gone, but Tim felt a little more with it. “Not my best idea.” He tried to say. He had no idea if the words in his head were put together correctly by his mouth. 

Tim glanced around the subway platform, trying to bring himself back into the present. “We’ve got to get to that train.” Tim shook his head aggressively in a final attempt to rid himself of the ringing. He grimaced. _ It’ll have to do _. 

The pair started toward the tunnel blocked by flames, Barbara helping to keep Tim steady. Suddenly, her grip tightened on him. He glanced at her groggily, then followed her own gaze to the jumpsuit who had thrown the exploding flamethrower. 

They had been knocked down, too, but were getting up. Their helmet/mask thing was cracked from the explosion, and they threw it off with some effort, revealing the face of a man with sandy hair and a matching beard. 

_ He looks familiar. Does he? _Tim was still woozy. He reached out to grab onto Batgirl for support, and she quickly straightened him up. Her mouth was moving. It was hard to tell what she was saying.

_ “Thus Rodger Duncan. I get him, you go triceratops. Be car flip.” _

Tim frowned, not understanding. Batgirl whirled him around and pointed him in the direction of the train. That, he could do. Maybe. He stumbled forward, giving himself plenty of space between the flames that licked at the platform floor. 

He reached the platform’s edge, and fell to his knees to avoid falling straight off the platform into the growing blaze on the train tracks. As he propped himself up, he glanced backward and saw Barbara restraining the man in the jumpsuit. 

This close to the tunnel, Tim was finally able to make out more details of the train. Past the flames and heat, he glimpsed two terrified faces. Their mouths were open, probably screaming for help.

Tim’s brain finally snapped back into place. He looked back and forth between the train and the flames, then went to his belt and tossed forward his whole supply of flame suppressant pellets. They barely managed to make a dent in the massive blaze below. 

_ Think, Drake, think. _ Tim looked around searching for options. He heard pipes groaning again, and tried to force thoughts about the impending gas leak and explosion to the back of his head. He wasn’t even finished dealing with the small explosion that hit him earlier.

His mind flitted to the image of white vapor spewing from the punctured flamethrower. Then to Batgirl’s face. The whole family. Bruce, Jason, Damian, Dick… Steph. _ Wait. _

Dick’s face appeared in his brain once more. A story Dick told him about fighting a Talon on the Subway platform. Groaning pipes. Gas leak. 

If the wrong gas leaked, everyone in the tunnels was dead. But… Tim looked up. He didn’t feel entirely in control of his body. Thinking so much had tired him out. Breathing in all this smoke probably didn’t help. He flung a batarang upward at the ceiling. It bounced harmlessly off of concrete. 

Red Robin narrowed his eyes behind his mask. He grasped another batarang and steadied himself, using his cape as a filter and taking a deep breath. He snapped his arm and wrist toward the pipes above him. 

The batarang cut through them cleanly, and Tim immediately felt the temperature drop as pale blue liquid sprayed from the sliced tubing. Step one was complete. Though he felt himself fading, he reached for his grapple and shot it upward, embedding it in the tubing. 

He yanked down hard to direct the liquid nitrogen toward the hungry inferno blocking the tunnel entrance, but found himself losing the battle. His pulled until his vision went fuzzy again, then, Batgirl’s hand grasped his shoulder, and took the grapple from him. 

Red Robin fell onto his back and looked up toward Barbara. _ Wait _. Barbara hadn’t changed outfits, had she? The hooded figure clad in green and brown leather glanced toward him for a moment before going back to dousing the flames. 

A similarly dressed figure rushed past him as soon as the blaze had died down. Tim heard a chorus of voices all saying different things as he drifted back into unconsciousness. 


	18. Chapter 18

“Come on, Dick. Four floors left.” Jason clapped Dick on the back as he went into another coughing fit. Dick had given his oxygen mask to an athsmatic little boy on the fourteenth floor. He didn’t regret it, but he sure wished he’d packed an extra. “Want my mask?”

Dick shook his head at his brother. “I’m fine.” Jason responded with a scowl, which Dick had anticipated. 

“You’re an idiot. Okay let’s go.” Dick nodded, and fired his grapple up to the ninth floor of Elliott Memorial Hospital. The blaze had spread across the building, but the fire department had informed them that floors one through five were clear. 

As they had been doing for what seemed like hours, Dick took the right side of the floor, while Jason took the left. Nightwing held his arm over his nose and mouth the best he could as he scoured the floor for people.

He couldn’t speak for Jason, but even though he was tired and sore, he felt like he had the routine down.  _ No one in the rooms. No one in the lobby _ . He paused and closed his eyes, listening for sound.  _ Nothing. _

He sprinted back to the shattered window from his entrance. Red Hood appeared from the smoke on clouding the hallway, empty handed. Dick held his free hand up, connecting his fingers and thumb to form a zero. Jason nodded in agreement. 

“Next floor. Time to g—”  _ THOOM. _ Red Hood’s words were drowned out by an explosion, this one coming from only yards away. The shockwave caused a rumble in the floor below them, but both Nightwing and Red Hood managed to steady themselves using a nearby wall for support. 

Dick determined the worst of the blast was over, and scanned the room. The newly added smoke and flame made it even harder to see. “‘Wing.” He flicked his eyes toward Jason, who was pointing down the hall he had just come back from. 

Standing beyond the flames and a newly created hole in the floor was a dark haired woman. She wore a mask to protect her from smoke, but Nightwing knew it had to be Mary Duncan. He’d seen the effects of the explosives she and her husband developed. The hole in the floor and fresh inferno. The first time he’d seen them used in action, the pair had gotten away.  _ Not this time. _

Dick’s eyes narrowed and he started sprinting down the hall toward Mary, but he stumbled when the building shook again. The deep green eyes of Mary stared across the chasm, straight at Dick. He scowled.

“Nightwing? Are you there?” The fire chief’s voice came through his earpiece. He instinctively touched his finger to it. 

“Yes ma’am?” 

“I don’t know what that explosion was, but it looked pretty bad from out here. I’m being told the structural integrity of the building doesn’t have much longer.” The chief maintained a calm tone, which Dick appreciated.

“You hear that, Hood?” He glanced back toward Jason, who nodded. “You go after her, I’ll get the rest of the floors.” 

Nightwing grimaced. He knew that wasn’t going to work. Jason couldn’t take three more floors on his own, it would take too long. The building would collapse before he was done. Dick felt a growl low in his throat. He knew the rules. Rescue first, pursuit second.

“No.” Dick glowered across the chasm toward Mary, who stood almost motionless, not saying a word. “There’s not enough time for you to do it alone.” Dick turned back toward Red Hood, but stopped short.

Another hooded figure had appeared behind his brother, this one adorned in gray and brown. “How can we help?” Two other smaller figures appeared, wearing similar attire.  _ The army of small ninjas _ . Dick felt a smirk creep onto his face.

Red Hood whirled around, his hand shooting to his hip, which snapped Nightwing back to reality. “Stand down, Hood! Friends!” Dick felt relief at the reinforcements, but knew he was far from being able to relax. “Alistair, thank you. Take care of the last three floors. Red Hood can fill you in!”

Dick was already jogging backward, a smirk back on his face from thinking about the conversation between Jason and Alistair. He turned around and broke into a sprint, expecting Mary to have already begun running away. 

Instead, she stayed still for another moment, eyeing him. She still said nothing, but stepped to her right and leaped out of a window that had been shattered by the explosion. Dick’s eyes widened behind his mask.  _ What the hell?! _

Nine floors up was hardly a survivable fall. He pressed forward and sprung over the hole that had opened in the floor, and stopped short at the window Mary had jumped through. He peered out over the parking lot of the hospital, seeing nothing at first, but then catching a flash of movement in the brush at the edge of the lot, signifying the boundary of Elliott Park. 

Dick couldn’t fathom how Mary wasn’t a splat on the concrete, but he didn’t have time. He pressed firmly on the head of the bird symbol on his chest. He felt his suit shifting around him, loosening at his torso between his arms and legs.

He hadn’t tested the flight suit yet, but Tim said he was pretty sure it would work. That would have to be good enough. He took a few steps back, took a breath, ran forward, and jumped into the night air. 

* * *

“I hope you aren’t running late because you’ve decided on any additional last second changes.” Oswald Cobblepot’s voice was hushed over the phone. Mary distractedly input a series of keystrokes on her computer, shifting between various camera angles in the Iceberg Lounge.

“Now, Oswald, that’s not a very respectful tone to take with a business partner.” She purposely allowed a lazy lilt to enter her voice.

“I believe I’ve been respectful enough, thus far. Especially after being captured and threatened.” Penguin snapped.

Mary sighed audibly and glanced over to her husband, who was packing supplies away into bags for both of them. “Hmm. I thought we agreed that was a necessary security measure for business? Anyway, there is one hitch we’ve encountered.”

“And what is that? My security tells me that all of our people are in position. The business competitors I’m hosting will not remain here all night. We’re running out of time. Some guests have decided not to stay for dessert—bloody disrespectful rubes.” Cobblepot trailed off, and Mary took the opportunity to fill in the gap.

“Don’t worry about that, Oswald. They will be taken care of. I did have a question, however. Before we went into business together, what was your plan for this event?” Mary typed furiously as she spoke, not caring whether her keystrokes were audible to the Penguin.

“What? It’s a benefit dinner. It’s not a complicated concept. The elite come to my place of business and donate to my charity. It’s good for business, good for my reputation, good P.R.” Oswald was losing his patience.

“Right, of course. Good P.R. See, that’s the thing I don’t get. You crave respect from these selfish people who don’t give a shit about you.” Mary ignored the ‘excuse me?’ she heard from the phone’s speaker. “They come to your dinner because they want their own ‘good P.R.’. Or to network, to try and make even more money, thinking for some reason it will make them happy even though the first million or billion dollars couldn’t.” 

Her eyes flashed and her voice held an icy tone as she continued. “Maybe they come just to drink and try to distract themselves from how miserable they are. To pat themselves on the back because they donated some money—basically pocket change for most of them—to ‘ _ the less fortunate’ _ . And of course to get the tax-writeoff that comes with it.”

“This conversation is over, Marilyn.” The Penguin’s seething anger was clear in his tone, just barely kept in check. On her monitor, Mary could see his fat fist clenched as he stood away from the crowd.

“And for some reason,  _ these  _ are the kind of people you so desperately  _ need _ to respect you. Yet at the same time, you jumped at the chance to attack them when we offered it to you. To hit them where it really hurts. Their  _ bank accounts _ . Their  _ assets _ . Their  _ investments _ .” Mary caught Rodger’s eye and nodded to him. He gave a tight smile in reply and whipped out his own burner phone to make a call.

“Well like I said, we did have a hitch in our plans.  _ You  _ moved the dinner up. ‘ _ For logistical reasons. _ ’” She imitated his cockney accent. “But when we checked your hard drive, we found a message from the Wayne Foundation. As well as a sizable check.”

“That was—” Oswald now appeared flustered on the camera’s feed. He used a handkerchief to his monocle. “Just business.” 

“Fair enough.” Mary snapped. “I have another business proposition for you. Elliott Memorial Hospital, where you’ve been on the board for years, is ravaged by a freak fire, started by the old heating system you and the board have neglected.”

“What are you—” Mary didn’t need to cut off his attempted interruption. She flicked her hand to the keyboard, and the loud  _ THOOM  _ echoing throughout the city stopped him short for her.

“And the Subway System, which your family helped build, suffers an unfortunate gas leak.” Another keystroke, and a second, more muffled explosion reverberated across the streets. “Meanwhile, your little party is attacked. Hopefully your guests will still respect you after the hostage situation and losing all their precious watches and jewelry.”

Mary heard shots fired and the shattering of glass over the phone, and saw Cobblepot flinch on her monitor. “Enjoy your evening, Oswald.” She clicked the end button and grasped the bag that Rodger held out for her, quickly snapping the flip phone in half.

* * *

Hank Duncan was remaining calm. Absolutely. He wasn’t worried. He knew he had to keep his composure to figure out what was going on. 

He and the other guests had been forced onto one side of the room. Attendees stood or sat up against the wall. At the beginning of the evening, he had counted twelve security guards in the Aurora Borealis Room. 

Currently, ten were positioned around the room, six were spread out with their guns trained on the crowd. Four guards had split into two pairs and gone to either end of the room, making their way toward the middle as they requested the guests to turn over any valuables.

The only guest sitting across the room was actually the evening’s host, Oswald Cobblepot. When he had been escorted by two guards to his current spot, Hank figured the Penguin had orchestrated this, but then, despite excessive and whiny protests, Cobblepot was given a gag and tied to one of his blue chairs.

“Hey! Stay still!” Hank whipped his head toward the voice of a red-headed guard several yards to his left. Kite couldn’t see the guard’s eyes thanks to reflective sunglasses, but the clench of his jaw suggested anxiety. 

“No funny business from me, chum. I promise.” Hank’s eyes followed the gun’s barrel, landing on his most recent benefactor, Bruce Wayne, who had two hands high in the air, slowly sidestepping to his left. “I just wanted to get this woman some water.” Wayne’s head gently tilted in the direction of a clearly pregnant brunette woman in a black dress. “Stress is bad for a baby, chum. No one needs to get hurt.”

The redhead guard paused for a moment in contemplation. Hank felt Liz’s elbow nudge his side and he quickly glanced at her, sitting on the floor next to him. He couldn’t do more than shrug at the question in her blue eyes. 

On her right, George and Elaine both stood up against the wall, George’s arm placed protectively around his wife. Their gazes were firmly positioned forward at the guards nearest to them, but Hank saw their lips moving slightly as they murmured to each other. 

“Okay. You walk to  _ that  _ table.” The guard barked at Wayne, pointing quickly to a nearby table. “Hands above your head except to carry the water to her.” 

Bruce Wayne nodded slightly and slowly walked to the table, never turning his back to the guard. He picked up the glass in his left hand and turned to the side, keeping his right hand above his head. 

_ Please do not be a hero right now, Bruce Wayne.  _ Hank’s mind had been racing for ten minutes now, but he couldn’t get anywhere in terms of an escape plan except for somehow getting his phone back. His eyes narrowed at the blonde guard across the room who had taken the phone.

Wayne sidestepped toward the pregnant woman and handed her the glass, which she gripped using a shaky hand. 

“Now stay there. Move again and I shoot you.” Hank exhaled loudly through his nose, relieved that Wayne hadn’t tried any ‘funny business’ after all. A soft hand grasped at his fingers and he looked to Liz, who squeezed his hand.

“You okay?” He tried not to move his mouth as he whispered, his words coming out a bit slurred. She nodded and her eyes darted behind her to the pair of guards who were approaching. Two or three yards away, Gina Barnes, who had sat at their dinner table, was placing two silver bracelets and a necklace into a bag held by one of the guards, her eyes shining with fear.

  
  


“Plan?” Liz mouthed when she looked back to Hank. He grimaced. He wanted to say yes. But he had no suit, no tools, and too many hostages to protect from ten guns at once. He shook his head. 

“Too many guns.” Liz pursed her lips in response, then opened them.

“Wore the wrong suit.” Her mouth quirked and Hank choked out a small laugh in surprise. If she was brave enough to make a joke right now, maybe he could be brave enough to… do…  _ something. _ He was still working on what. 

“Earrings and necklace in the bag.” The dark haired guard with the gun snapped at Elaine. Hank saw George and Liz’s matching blue eyes flash at the same time, and a pit formed in his stomach.  _ Please. Be smart.  _ He squeezed Liz’s hand. “And that broach. Your watch. Got any cash?” 

Elaine grimly removed the diamond-encrusted brooch from the shoulder of her dress, and George placed his watch in the bag, along with three bills from his wallet. Hank glanced across the room again. 

Blondie, who had his phone, had a hand to his ear piece, murmuring to someone over his commlink. His eyes shifted again, glancing at the other pair of guards, who were demanding a cufflinks, a watch, and a lapel pin from Bruce Wayne.

The pair of guards next to him moved over, the bag carrier stepping in front of Liz. “Same deal. Necklace, earrings.” The guard waggled his gun around, and Hank stared daggers at his sunglasses.

The dark haired guard snapped his head toward Hank. Kite’s eyes flicked for just half a moment to the cold black void of the barrel, then back up to his own face mirrored in the dark lenses. “Eyes on the ground.” Dark hair ordered. 

“Oh my  _ god _ .” Without thinking, the venomous words escaped from Hank’s mouth, and his brows rose in disgust.  _ CRACK _ .

“Henry!” He heard George Carter’s voice combined with a gasp from Liz, and tasted blood trickling in his mouth. The butt of the gun had connected with his jaw, which stung like hell, but Hank felt a grin through his gritted teeth. 

Sure, he’d have a bruise. Might have cracked a tooth. But he took a small victory in knowing he’d made the guard angry. “Watch.  _ Now _ .” Hank’s chest was poked by a gun barrel. He glanced down at it, taking a mental note.  _ Safety off. But now I know where it is. _

“Sorry man, don’t have one.” Hank raised his hands in surrender. “I’m here on scholarship.” Moving his mouth to speak was not pleasant, but felt worth it to see the guard’s jaw tighten. 

“Take off your tie.” Hank raised an eyebrow.  _ Weird request. Must be pretty mad.  _ He thought of another witty response, but didn’t want to risk the safety of anyone else. Hank slowly began to loosen his tie, but his eyes shot up when glass shattered across the room. 

A chorus of grunts came from several of the guards, but as they were turning toward the sound, the Aurora Borealis Room became pitch black. 


	19. Chapter 19

“Come on, Rodger, you’re a talkative guy. It’s only a matter of time before you say  something .” Batgirl leaned over the sandy-haired older man, who remained annoyingly silent, and more annoyingly calm.

She glanced over to Red Robin, who was scowling at their captive, who was kneeling on the ground, his hands bound behind his back. Barbara hoped that Tim was feeling okay. She suspected he had a major concussion.

Behind Tim, stood two kids a bit younger than him. When they appeared out of nowhere in the subway tunnels, Barbara had recognized their clothing as the same that she had seen on the thief she encountered with Kite. 

Thankfully, Batgirl was too preoccupied with Rodger to attack them, because they turned out to be there to help. If they hadn’t been there to help the passengers stuck on that train... 

The kids didn’t give their names, only letters.  R  and  Q. Assuming they told the truth, Batman and Nightwing had requested help from their boss. She raised her eyebrows toward them, inviting them to take a swing at the interrogation, but it was clear that neither of the adolescents even knew who Rodger was. 

Tim cleared his throat. “So what exactly was the game-plan? You burn down a subway platform? Wait for a gas leak to collapse the tunnels? Then what?” He walked slowly, deliberately over to Rodger, who continued in silence. 

He appeared emotionless, but his eyes continuously wandered back and forth between each of his captors.  What is he looking for?

She took the quick timeout to press a gloved finger to cowl’s earpiece, only to once again hear the crackle of static. She already tried to contact Dick and Jason twice now, and she didn’t have the proper tools to determine if it was her commlink on the fritz or theirs. Tim’s device had been damaged in the explosion from earlier.

Red Robin sighed and turned away from Rodger. “Well. He’s a tough cookie. And I’m not really one for  advanced interrogation. ” Tim’s expression was tired. Batgirl frowned in agreement. She wasn’t either. 

She surveyed the alley into which they had dragged Rodger Duncan.  What next? Take him to the cave? The police? Her thoughts were interrupted as  R cleared her throat. 

“Uh, my—our, um, boss just told me he’s with Red Hood. They think they got everyone out of the hospital with minor injuries, but the eighth and ninth floors collapsed. Nightwing left to chase someone who had an explosive in the building.” Barbara nodded appreciatively at the young girl.

“Thanks for the update.” She whirled toward Rodger. “Is that person some hired help? Or your wife?” Her mouth opened slightly as his face finally showed some emotion, twisting into a grin, and then twisting even more. Her eyes widened in horror.

The pale skin and dirty blonde stubble on Rodger’s face darkened into a murky brown, and then faded away. His whole body unnaturally contorted and changed hue until she heard the clatter of handcuffs on the ground, and body of viscous brown liquid slithered away. A familiar gravelly voice laughed aloud. 

“ Clayface!” 

She heard Tim’s voice echo her own, but calling the shapeshifter’s name accomplished nothing, and the pile of sludge continuously split into smaller clumps before dispersing itself completely.

Barbara’s hand went back to her commlink in a flash.  “Nightwing? Come in, Nightwing!”

* * *

Nightwing extended his arms perpendicular to his torso and kept his legs straight and pulled together, forming a “T”. His stomach flipped as he suddenly felt the sensation of falling, but then the suit’s air resistance kicked in, and he found himself gliding through the night air of Gotham. 

The breeze against his face was welcome in the heat, and Dick repressed the laughter bubbling in his chest, reminding himself to maintain his focus. He’d never done this before, and by his estimate, he was still around six stories up. Plenty of room to mess up and fall to his death. 

He did allow himself a small smirk as he very gently shifted his arms, causing him to bank to the right to follow the shadow he saw running across the ground. Unfortunately, he ended up banking too sharply. He approached the ground, careening away from his target at roughly a 30 degree angle. 

He brought his legs down and bent his knees, tucking his body into a roll to absorb the shock of the landing. He caught a flash of Mary’s dark hair in the moonlight as she sprinted along the edge of the stream which wound down the middle of Elliott Park. 

Dick pressed the symbol on his chest once again, feeling the excess air pumped out of the vents in his suit as it retracted. The fabric didn’t fit his form as tightly as it used to, but told himself to save that note for later. He pushed himself up and bent forward into a run. 

He was surprised at Mary’s speed, and wondered how young she was when she had given birth to her sons. Fortunately, Dick had a lifetime of acrobatics conditioning under his belt, not to mention Bat-conditioning. 

His muscles ached from running around the hospital, but a good chase always spiked his adrenaline, this time with an extra boost from gliding through the air. He pushed his body forward, breaking into a dead sprint. 

Nightwing was already gaining on the dark haired woman, and felt a grin pulling at his mouth as he saw her slowing down. Suddenly, Mary Duncan leaned back into a semi-squat, skidding across the ground and spinning around. 

Dick’s eyes widened in shock, but he was far from new to quick changes in plans. Nightwing dove into a tackle, wrapping his arms around her waist and forcing the woman to the ground. Mary’s limbs struggled against his grip as they rolled across the ground, though he couldn’t hear any breathing or grunts coming from her. 

They tumbled down the bank of the stream, and Dick braced himself for impact with the water. He sucked in his breath, exhaling through his nose as his face was submerged. Though he tightened his grip on Mary, he felt her bodyweight slipping away from him.  _ What the hell? _

The moonlight wasn’t strong enough to illuminate the murky streamwater. Dick breached the surface and inhaled deeply, whipping his vision down to his gloved hands, which held nothing but clumps of mud.  _ How? What? _

“Where?” He muttered aloud, swiveling his head back and forth, but seeing nothing aside from an empty park. The mud slipped out of his hands and was carried away by the stream. A surge of deja vu hit him before a clearer memory shot through his brain. 

Something like this had happened before when he was chasing…  _ Clayface. _ Of course. He suddenly heard a buzzing in his ears.  _ “N...twing! ...Come in!”  _ Frustrated, Dick pulled the commlink out of his ear and shook it vigorously, clicking it twice to activate its speaker function.

“Nightwing, here. Go ahead.”

“Nightwing,” Batgirl sounded almost as out of breath as he was. “We subdued the fire in the subway, mostly. But in the tunnels, we found Rodger Duncan—except he turned out to be—” 

“ _ Clayface _ .” Dick growled. “Same thing happened to me. He was posing as Mary Duncan.” 

“Di—Nightwing. Do you think that Clayface could have been posing as the Duncans all this time?” Babs’s voice was filled with concern. Dick’s mind began to race with hunches and deductions, but he pushed them away.

“Not sure.” Dick opened the comm channel to the others. “Anyone heard from Batman or Penny-One?” 

“No.” “Nope.” “No.” 

Nightwing set his jaw with determination. “Then we know what’s next.”

* * *

Another sound of shattered glass came from the other side of the room, and a hissing filled Hank’s ears.  _ Smoke grenade. _

Had Nightwing and the others somehow realized he was in trouble? Did the guard who took his phone accidentally hit the ‘send’ button? 

Hank heard more shouts from the guards, and heard footsteps in front of him. Next to him, the Carters called each others’ names in the darkness. Kite reached into his jacket and pressed his mask onto his face with a few gentle pops from the mask’s tiny suction cups.

Instantly, pitch black became a spectrum of green as his mask’s night vision activated. He clenched his sore jaw at the blurry green forms of the two guards in front of him. No wingdings. No grapple gun. No escrima sticks.  _ Just like old times. _

Hank darted forward, whipping his jacket off of his shoulders throwing it over the guard on his right’s face, driving an elbow into his back and dropping him to the ground. Before the second guard had time to react, Hank slipped his tie out from underneath his dress shirt’s collar and tightened it around the guard’s throat. 

The guard gagged audibly, but the silk tie was slick, and Hank had been moving too fast to get a proper grip on it. Kite’s fingers failed him, and the green figure stumbled forward, reaching for his own throat with more coughs and gags. 

Thinking quickly, Kite knelt down and hefted up the bag that the downed guard had been holding. Clenching his fingers over the bag’s opening and wrapping it once around his left hand, he took a step forward and swung his arms to his side. 

The bag full of jewelry collided with the back of the guard’s head, and the muffled clinking of metal on metal combined with the guard’s grunt was music to Kite’s ears.

_ Two down, eight to go.  _ The cloud of smoke had blossomed to fill up the room, and as a symphony of coughing fits crescendoed, Hank grabbed an unused cloth napkin from a table, tying it around his nose and mouth and hoping it would work well enough as a filter.

Hank looked around the room, but even with his mask’s protective lenses and night vision, everything was blurred by smoke. He turned to his sense of hearing, searching for his next objective.  _ “Hank!” _ echoed from somewhere behind him.

He spun on his heel against the marble floor, and despite the smoke and green filters, he recognized the silhouette of Liz Carter a few yards away. She bent over slightly, coughing, and three quick steps brought him to her. “Liz. I’m here.” 

“Are you—”

“I’m okay.” He grabbed her hand and placed it on his face so she could feel his mask, using his free hand to make a  _ shush _ sign against her mouth. “George? Elaine?” 

“Oh Henry,  _ ahem  _ thank god.” He followed Elaine’s voice and could barely make out the green image of her face.

“Where are you, Hank?” George asked in between coughs. Liz’s parents seemed to be squinting in the darkness.  _ They can’t see me. _ He frowned, not sure if he was entirely convinced by his own inner monologue.

He heard the uneven percussion of stumbling footsteps all around him, and struggled to focus in on the shouts coming from the guards. No gunshots yet, which was good. Hank felt the toe of his shoe connect with something solid with a soft  _ clang _ .

Looking down he found the sidearm of one of the guards he’d downed. The pistol must have slid across the slick marble.  _ Lucky for once. _

“Uh.” His mouth moved faster than his brain. “I think a guard dropped their gun.” He picked it up, quickly enabling the safety, and gently pushed it toward George, careful to keep his masked face out of reach. “George, do you know how—”

“I do.” Elaine’s hands confidently gripped the pistol and pulled it from Hank’s hands. “Let’s go.” 

“Hey! If you can hear me, grab someone behind you and follow my voice!” George’s voice resonated over the grumbles of the crowd. Elaine carefully stepped forward, vaguely toward the exit.

Hank’s fingers were suddenly entangled. He looked down, then up at Liz. “You coming?” She whispered.

“I can see. They can’t yet.”  _ Probably. _ “I’ll meet you outside. Pinky promise.” He shifted his hand to link his pinky finger with hers. 

Hank turned around and waded into the smoke.  _ Okay. Focus, Duncan. _ He’d gotten lucky so far. He needed to keep getting lucky, but also be smart. His thigh bumped into a table, and heard the wiggling of stemmed glasses. He suddenly had one of his famous half-dumb, half-smart ideas. 

_ Please be red, please be red, please be red. _ With the green tint overlaid on his vision, he picked up two glasses filled with what he hoped was red wine, and dumped them on his shirt, shaking off a shiver. Kite determined there was no time to think twice, grabbing another glass and spilling its contents backwards over his hair.

As Hank wiped his forehead of excess liquid, another blurry green figure entered his vision. Kite quietly stalked toward them, trying to soften the clicking of his dress shoes on the marble floor. Suddenly, the blurriness obscuring Hank’s vision was gone. He was out of the smoke, and the figure ahead of him was crystal clear. Oswald Cobblepot was still gagged and tied to a blue chair. Kite had another idea, somewhere between idiotic and brilliant. 

Hearing heavy footsteps approaching him, Hank turned back to another dinner table, grabbing two more glasses and hurling them to the other side of the room. The glasses shattering briefly put the footsteps on mute. There was still a dull roar from whatever crowd was left, but Hank heard a voice from the smoke behind him. “Split up. You go check that out.”

He yanked a steak knife off the table and rushed toward Cobblepot, knowing he wouldn’t have long. He started sawing at the rope binding the Penguin, who made a squawking sound in surprise.  _ Does he do that on purpose or what? _ He pushed the question aside.

“Shut up unless you want to get shot.” Hank snapped, his voice a low whisper. “I’m freeing you, because you own this building, and I’m thinking you know some way to call the police, or security, or  _ something _ .” 

Kite felt the rope snap, and began unwinding it, once again hearing voices and footsteps closing in on him. Using his other hand, he poked the dull side of the steak knife against Penguin’s cheek. “You. Call for help. Clear?” Hank yanked the gag down and pushed the last of the rope to the ground.

Cobblepot shot out of the chair with surprising speed, pushing Hank back hard. “Get away from me, cretin!” Hank stumbled backward, gritting his teeth with irritation. Maybe he’d end up calling the police anywhere, just out of concern for himself. 

Suddenly, the rumbling of footsteps sounded like it was right next to Kite. He turned around toward the sound only to feel the air leave his chest as the butt of a gun slammed into his diaphragm. He fell backward again, and pushed his chin forward to narrowly avoid hitting the marble with his head. 

Hank’s vision blurred again as tears involuntarily formed in his eyes. His brain told his body to move, but the message didn’t get through. The figure above brought the weapon up to eye level and leaned over slightly. A new sound entered Hank’s ears, the whoosh of something cutting through the air. 

The guard above him kicked him in his ribs. “Who the hell are you?” Hank couldn’t respond aside from wheezing in pain, but as he clutched at his side, another  _ swoosh _ tickled his ears, followed by a  _ clunk, hisssssssssssssssss. _

Hank’s vision was further obscured by another cloud of smoke, but he could make out three other blurry green figures as they appeared next to the one standing above him. 

_ Swoosh.  _ “Show yourself!”  _ Whoosh. _ The figures twisted and turned, trying in vain to follow the sounds through smoke. More swooshes, whooshes, and grunts. “What the fu—” 

“You should run.” The panicked guard above him was cut off by a deep, rough voice.  _ I hope he’s not talking to me. _ Hank still hadn’t caught his breath, and his whole right side was on fire. 

The guards shouted some more, but Hank’s ears tuned them out in favor of a soft  _ swoosh,  _ which felt like it emanated from right behind him. “Kite.” Hank froze. The gravelly tone was right in his ear. “Switch to lense six, now.” 

A firm, clear, command. Hank willed his fingers to tap his mask four times, and all the fluorescent green blurs in his vision was replaced by blackness.  _ Whir. Cl-cl-click.  _ Hank could see again, the Aurora Borealis room appeared before him in a pleasant blue tint. 

“Jesus!” “Aagh!” The lights in the room had come back on in full force. The guards above him clutched at their exposed eyes, which had spent the past five minutes adjusting to the pitch darkness.  _ Swoosh. _

Hank finally saw the source of the noise, as a flash of black and gray danced around the blinded guards.  _ Swoosh. OOF! Swish-swoosh. AH! _ The cape made it difficult to track, but Hank could tell the shadow before him was enormous, despite moving with grace.

Almost simultaneously, four bodies hit the floor with a round of  _ thuds _ . Hank found the energy to sit up, and found a black glove hovering above him, waiting to help him up. Connected to the glove, a gray suit of padded armor, and a black cowl with pointed ears. The black glove found his own hand and pulled him up like he weighed nothing. 

“Are you okay?” Beneath the cowl, an incredibly square jaw moved up and down. The that came from it was still very deep, but not as rough as before. Hank realized he was supposed to answer.

“Yes, Batman. I’m okay.”  _ What the hell are you doing? _ Hank bit the inside of his cheek, hoping to prevent further spillage of word salad. 

Hank coughed and shifted his gaze from the bat emblem on the broad chest, feeling like he had to crane his neck to meet the eyes of the towering man before him. “Thanks.” He muttered.

“Good.” Batman gave him a once over, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Did you spill?” 

Hank looked down at his body. His white shirt was partially soaked, covered in two large pale purple splotches. His navy blue pants were dusted with gray ash. His shoes somehow still looked shiny. His hair was still moist. Hank remembered he still had a napkin tied around his face, and quickly ripped it down. 

“Erm. It was supposed to help hide my identity. You know, a white shirt before putting on the mask, and now…” 

“Hmm.” Batman’s mouth twitched again. “Good idea.” 


	20. Chapter 20

“I apologize for arriving last second. I had to help get civilians out of danger.” Batman hadn’t wanted to cut things so close. He would never have forgiven himself if he hadn’t been able to get to his son’s protege in time. 

“Uh. S’okay. I know the rule. Civilians first.” The young man standing before him was uncomfortable. Batman wasn’t quite sure what to do about that. “No big deal—I get lucky sometimes.”

“Luck is when things go your way despite being out of your control, Kite.” Kite;  _ Milvus migrans. _

One of the divisions family Falconidae, proposed by Nicholas Aylward Vigors in 1824. Kites had humbler bills and talons than that of buzzards, and wings longer than their typically forked tails. 

_ “Chose the name himself.”  _ Nightwing had said with a shrug. Batman’s brow knit slightly behind the cowl, as he recalled Kites appearing as villains in several of Aesop’s fables. Batman cleared his throat.

“ _ I _ was lucky that you were able to handle yourself and get the rest of the crowd to safety. Good work.” He tentatively placed a hand on Kite’s shoulder. The young man glanced downward for a moment.

“Thanks.” He revealed a small, polite smile. “So, uh, should we leave?” Henry Duncan was an experiment that he wasn’t sure about, but it wasn’t his experiment to judge. It was Nightwing’s. Dick’s.

* * *

Hank swallowed nervously. He felt incredibly exposed in his wet shirt, suit pants and slacks. Wearing the mask almost made him feel more vulnerable because it was so out of place with the rest of his attire. 

His previous question to Batman still hung in the air. “Not yet. We need to secure the lower level, and get any remaining civilians to safety.” 

“Ah, right.” Hank’s typical anxiety-driven habits were kicking back into gear. Talking too much. “Okay. Better get a move on, then. Or, what’s the plan? Wait, do you by chance have a spare suit for me?” 

Once again, the absurdly sharp jaw of the Batman quivered slightly. Hank thought he may have heard an exhale escape his nose. “I’m afraid I don’t. You’ll focus on crowd control. I’ll handle any threats.”

Okay. Simple. He could handle that.  _ Hell, that’s more of a plan than Dick has, most of the time. _ The sudden noise of a door being thrown open startled Hank, and he twisted around to see an elderly man wearing a neatly creased black tuxedo. 

The jacket he wore had a long, split tail, and spotless white gloves covered his hands.  _ Who’s this guy? Orchestra conductor man?  _ His face was partially obstructed by a small, perfectly groomed mustache, and a domino mask.

Hank wasn’t sure whether to blame stress, exhaustion adrenaline, or a cocktail of all three, but he couldn’t help himself. Seeing the old man in the mask, his brain put together a sentence, and his mouth immediately blurted it out.

“Oh god, Nightwing, what happened?” Silence filled the air. The elderly man stood up a bit straighter, and his mustache twitched. 

“Hmm. Not the time for jokes, Kite.” Batman’s voice sounded a bit different behind him. 

“I’m so sorry.” Hank dropped his gaze to the floor and shoved his hands into his pockets.  _ You weirded out the Batman, Kite. Swell. _

“Sir, I can’t seem to get in touch with Nightwing or the others. The commlink is all static.” The warm, pleasant voice, and the proper english accent of the older man made Hank feel worse about poking fun at him. He didn’t even know him.

“Keep trying, Penny-One. Stay in the car, keep it ready for a quick departure or a chase.” Batman turned away and began walking toward the door at the opposite end of the year. Hank started to follow, then turned around and looked at the elderly man.

“I wish I could tell you why I said those words. I really am so sorry.” Hank winced behind his mask, but to his surprise, a kind smile appeared on Penny-One’s face.

“Apology accepted, sir. No offense taken. You had better catch up with Batman.” Hank nodded and jogged to follow the Dark Knight. “And Kite, do be careful!” Hank smiled at the encouraging words behind him.

* * *

Oswald Cobblepot continued grumbling to himself, stalking around his panic-room in and oval pattern. He glanced down and noticed the gray footprints below him. His shoes had picked up ash from the smoke that covered the floor of his beautiful Aurora Borealis Room. 

The new marble flooring he’d put in for the dinner could be ruined. The guests he’d invited fled from his Lounge, screaming, fearing for their lives. 

Cobblepot turned to one of the many monitors in the room. The screen showed the Elliott Memorial Hospital, fractured, possibly about to collapse. A screen next to it featured the entrance to the subway tunnel built by his family. Smoke poured out from the black void beyond the entrance. 

His family’s legacy was tarnished throughout Gotham. Why? Because he wanted to host a dinner. For charity. And he’d picked the  _ wrong night _ . Marking off the wrong square on the calendar meant he lost generations of built up wealth and respect.

His teeth gnashed together as he trembled with rage. It wasn’t just that the Dagget’s—actually the Duncan’s, as he recently learned—had taken so much from him. The way Marilyn—Mary—spoke to him was simply unacceptable. 

“What had she done for the world? She worked in a factory and faked her own death. Now? She’s a criminal. With her insufferable husband.” Unconsciously, Cobblepot’s thoughts started to escape his mouth. “They’re nothing. Dirt. Worms.”

He angrily slammed himself down on a small chair in front of the wall of monitors, and pounded away at a keyboard.  _ Click. Click. _ His eyes flitted across the screen. 

Oswald’s lips turned upward into a snarling smile. Many times in his life, he’d typed “Cobblepot” into a search vehicle, and skimmed through thousands of results featuring business success and philanthropic work. Searching the name “Duncan” in the Gotham Archives resulted in only three articles. 

_ Gotham Gazette Archive:  _

_ COUPLE PASSES IN WAYNE INDUSTRIES FIRE, TWO SONS LEFT BEHIND. _

_ BOY, AGE 10, SHOT DEAD IN ALLEY. _

_ GOTHAM ORPHAN RECEIVES WAYNE FOUNDATION SCHOLARSHIP. _

Oswald chuckled to himself darkly. Reading the Duncan family’s depressing headlines helped him feel that things were still right in the world.

* * *

“Let’s go, come on people.” Hank told himself that his voice sounded confident and bold. He knew he still looked ridiculous, with his stained shirt and ashy pants, but he was glad he decided to leave the mask in his pocket. 

_ POP-POP-POP. _

Hank instinctively ducked, but continued ushering the crowd toward the exit door. He heard a few screams ring out after the shots, but heard no  _ thump _ of a body hitting the floor, so no one was hit. Yet. “Keep moving, stay low.” 

He’d found a group of employees cowering in the kitchen. Somehow there wasn’t a backdoor out of the kitchen— _ Almost positive that’s a health code violation. Something about needing a back door to dispose of trash? _ —Before anyone had seen him, he removed the mask, figuring that Hank Duncan would be better able to reach the scared civilians. 

As Hank led the group through the blacked-out lounge, he could still hear a variety of sounds across the room.  _ Zzzip-Clang!  _ Grapple gun.  _ Oof! _ Thug being punched. After an eternity, Hank opened the front door to the lounge, waving his arm to direct the crowd outside.

After the last waitress was through the doorway, Hank followed it and closed it firmly behind him. 

“Okay. Keep moving. Head toward the red and blue lights! If you’re hurt tell them, they’ll find help for you!” Hank shouted in a scratchy, worn out voice. First responders had set up camp about a football field away, past the parking lot for safety. 

He sighed as the crowd shuffled away, giving himself a moment to catch his breath. “HANK!”  _ Okay moment over. _ He turned toward Liz’s voice. He didn’t have much energy to move toward her, luckily she ran toward him faster than he anticipated, and tackled him into a hug. 

“Oof. Okay, yeah. You saw my ribs earlier, right? Very tender.” She slapped his shoulder. “Hey!’

“ _ I’ll meet you outside?!” _ Liz hissed at him. “When were you planning on meeting me? Christmas?”

“I’m sorry, Liz.” Hank was too exhausted to argue. “I got held up. Had to get those people out.” 

She pulled him into another hug. “To be clear, you are  _ not _ forgiven yet.” He smiled against her shoulder.

“You smell good.” A flicker of lights pulled him out of the nice moment. His eyes shot toward a sleek, jet black car. “Okay, I have to go for a second. You stay here.” He gripped her shoulders and met her blue eyes, which were already flashing with objection. “Please.”

Miraculously, she didn’t argue. Hank took a deep breath and jogged toward the car. The window rolled down as he approached it. Penny-One was in the driver’s seat.

“Ki—Err—I suppose it would be Master Henry at the moment.” Hank raised an eyebrow, then another when Penny-One pulled off his domino mask, revealing… a man Hank didn’t know. 

“How can I help you, Mr. …?” 

“Alfred Pennyworth. A pleasure to meet you, Master Henry.” Hank leaned against the car, still a little confused.  _ Master? _

“I’m not anyone’s master, Alfred. Nice to meet you, though.” 

Alfred nodded rushedly. “Of course, sir. Are you in contact with our man inside?”

Hank straightened up, recognizing worry in Alfred’s voice. “I’m not. No earpiece. He’s not responding?”

“We are still experiencing issues on our commlink.” Alfred sighed. “I suppose I shall—”

_ DOOM. _

A burst of flame bloomed from on top of the lounge. “Jesus.” Hank muttered. Alfred repeatedly tapped his finger against his ear. “Batman, come in. Penny-One to Batman.”

“I’m already there. Keep trying to call Nightwing. Or anyone I guess.” Hank sprinted back toward the Iceberg Lounge, although he couldn’t quite manage a full sprint. His leg muscles were screaming at him. 

He put his head down, pushing harder into his run, but suddenly his momentum was interrupted, “Hey!” and he found himself twirling around, entangled with Elizabeth Carter. “Where are you going?” She demanded.

“Did you not see the explosion?” He didn’t mean to be harsh, but he didn’t have time for this.

“You are  _ not _ going in there.” Hank shook his head at her in exasperation and started to walk past her. “Okay then I’m going with you.”

“Absolutely not, Liz. Batman is in there.  _ The Batman.  _ That means there’s serious shit going down in there!” Hank was back in anxious-hyper-verbal-mode, not giving Liz a chance to speak. “He doesn’t even want  _ me  _ in there. He specifically told me to get all the civilians out of the building and then get myself to safety.”

“You can’t stop me from going in there.” Liz’s eyes were flashing, daring him to respond. Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. How much time had already passed?

“Liz. Not that you aren’t tough—you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.” Hank tried to put as much conviction as possible into his tired voice. “But we both know I  _ can _ stop you from going in there. Easily. And if you’re determined to run in there and put yourself in danger, then I won’t really have another choice.”

Liz slapped him. The same cheek hit by a guard’s gun earlier in the night. He closed his eyes for a moment, and exhaled through his nose. Liz said nothing, glaring at him through icy blue eyes. But she wasn’t moving. 

“Thank you, Liz.” His words came in a murmur. He turned back around into a jog, then a sprint, and opened the lounge’s door before disappearing inside.

* * *

_ DOOM. _

Nightwing winced, his eyes widening behind his helmet. “Batman? Penny-One?” The flames bursting forth from the Iceberg Lounge made Dick’s heart race. Still no response. Radio silence.

He flipped a switch on his bike, hearing the engine’s roar crescendo. Dick had to fight the voice in his head to keep it from overwhelming him. His imagination was relentlessly feeding him images of Bruce, Alfred, and Hank’s bodies, marred by burns. Barely recognizable. 

“Batgirl?” His voice sounded small.

“I’m here, Nightwing.” 

“What’s the latest on Clayface?” Dick silently pleaded for good news of some kind.   
  


“Red Robin and I are headed to the nearest safe house to analyze the handcuffs we put on Rodger, well, before he became mud.” The tiniest smile tugged at Dick’s mouth.

“Sounds good. I’ll update you when I have a visual on our friends at the Lounge. Nightwing out.” Dick narrowed his eyes and glanced at his HUD. He was supposed to arrive at the Iceberg Lounge in four minutes.  _ What could go wrong in four minutes? _


	21. Chapter 21

Elizabeth Carter shifted her eyes away from the newly aflame Iceberg Lounge. She needed to focus on something else. She clutched her heels in her hand like a vise.

She decided to turn around completely, facing the flashing red and blue lights instead of the lounge. Her eyes traced the silhouettes of the treeline against the multicolored background. Liz suddenly felt more exhausted than she had in a long time. 

It had certainly been a long day. But she couldn’t rest when Hank was in a burning building.  _ Don’t turn around. _ How could he run in there after that explosion?  _ Don’t look. _ Did Hank think  _ Batman  _ needed  _ his  _ help?  _ Eyes straight ahead. _

She clenched her jaw, and began stomping toward the lights.  _ What a stubborn asshole. “We both know I can stop you.” Jesus. I’m glad I slapped him. Idiot. No regard for his own life, but he’s in charge of  _ my  _ safety?  _

“Hey! You can’t cross that line!” Liz looked up at the shouting in front of her. A police officer was waving her arms. Liz opened her mouth to yell that she was coming back, but realized that the officer wasn’t looking at her. 

Her eyes were pointed at the group of parked cars in front of Liz. Liz shielded her eyes, hoping to see more clearly through the flashing red and blue lights. Her vision finally focused, and saw a shadow leaping on from car to car. The lights provided a strobe effect, so the figure looked like an old flip book animation that was missing every other page.

Before Liz knew it, the figure had jumped off the red sports car in front of her, rolling onto the pavement and pushing themselves up into a run. The shadow blew right past Liz, and her eyes widened when she realized that recognized it—or,  _ her _ , rather. 

The strange green and brown garb was impossible for her to forget. Liz’s mind flashed to finding the same girl in her family’s kitchen, Hank wrestling her to the ground before the she disappeared in a cloud of smoke, with him following close behind.

Now, the girl was sprinting toward a burning Iceberg Lounge, where Hank was. He was already in enough danger, he’d have no idea she was coming. Liz shook off the fear creeping into her mind and threw her heels to her side, ignoring the light scrapes she felt from her bare feet connecting with pavement.

She had been slowly gaining on the hooded girl, who seemed to be slowing down as she approached the building. Her mind produced the terrifying thought of:  _ What do I do when I catch her? _

But the girl wasn’t slowing down to stop—she was slowing down to gather herself for a jump, vaulting up onto the sharp sloped glass exterior of the iceberg lounge. The girl defied gravity, somehow running up a surface that mountain goats wouldn’t have been able to climb. 

Liz watched the shadowy girl disappear into an open window, probably leading to the second floor. Meanwhile, she had reached the front door. Liz took a deep breath and yanked it open, allowing her adrenaline to carry her inside.

* * *

Hank held his shirt sleeve over his nose and mouth, doing his best to filter out the smoke rising in the lounge. He was confident he’s checked the entire lower floor.  _ CRASH. _ Another big obnoxious sculpture fell, and the fire roared with excitement at finding more fuel.

The lounge was close to being in ruins. No sign of any other civilians, or Batman, or whomever caused the explosion. Hank’s eyes shot to the stairs leading to the second floor. Two giant ficuses were the source for a raging blaze that covered almost the entirety of the flight of stairs.

_ Okay. No stairs. Not supposed to take the elevator in a fire. How do I get up there? _ His eyes fell to an elevated bar across the room. Above it sat a canopy roof, and above that, a long curtain hung down, draped over a balcony on the second floor.  _ Here goes nothing. _

Hank jumped from a barstool to the bar, landing with two feet and springing up, just barely reaching the canopy. His fingers found purchase, and though his arms and back throbbed, he found the energy to pull himself on top of the canopy. 

From there he grabbed the curtain and tugged hard, testing its strength. Would this curtain support his weight? “No clue.” Hank realized, laughing at himself.

Hank pushed his right foot against the wall in front of him, gripped the curtain tightly and tensed his muscles as he placed his left foot against the wall. After a long moment of suspense, he decided that the curtain seemed sturdy enough, and began walking up the wall, wrapping his hands up in the curtain along the way to further stabilize himself.

The climb wasn’t as long as he expected it to be, but he still felt winded when he swung his legs over the balcony.  _ CRASH.  _

“What now?” Hank’s head snapped toward the noise, which turned out to be one of the large tinted windows of the Aurora Borealis Room shattering. Underneath the rain of tinted glass, the Batman stood, his head on a swivel. 

Hank’s instinct was to yell to Batman and get his attention, but he bit back his words, not wanting to distract the Dark Knight. What was he looking for? Suddenly, dust seemed to swirl behind Batman. 

Hank’s eyes widened as the dust piled on top of itself and morphed together, taking on a gelatinous quality. The dust continued to grow into a hulking humanoid shape. “ _ Behind you!” _

Hank’s voice broke as he yelled, but he was too shocked to be embarrassed. His message seemed to reach the wrong target, as the still forming head of the murky brown monster spun around 360 degrees on its own. A disfigured face swirled around in the muck, but couldn’t seem to put itself all the way together. 

All Hank could really make out was the whites of the monster’s eyes as it began jerkily moving toward him. Hank quickly flipped over onto his stomach, pushing himself up from the ground, keeping his eyes on the creature. 

Then, a black fist erupted out of the creature’s malleable chest. The creature roared, grabbing the fist with both arms and pulling. To Hank’s horror, Batman was pulled all the way through the monster’s body and flung toward him. 

Hank was so disgusted that all he could think to do was let his body go limp when Batman crashed into it.  _ “Ooff!”  _

Batman was up quickly. “Are you alright?” Hank forced himself to sit up again, gingerly poking his ribs. 

“I’ll be fine. What can I do?” Clayface seemed to be under a lot of stress trying to reform his body after Batman had passed through it. Hank pushed himself off the ground, and a firm hand clapped his shoulder. 

“Get out of here, Hank. Clayface is a very powerful meta-human—” 

“So it would be stupid to fight him alone.” Hank snapped. His mind raced to develop an excuse or apology for interrupting, but Batman smiled.  _ No. What? _

“You’re right. It would also be stupid to endanger a young man with only a few months’ training by having him fight a monster without even wearing basic armor.” Batman’s slight smile had melted back into a straight face. “Get out of the building and find a way to contact Nightwing. Check the basement first, in case there’s anyone hiding there.”

Hank looked back and forth between Batman and the mud-monster. “Alright.” Hank grabbed hold of the curtain he climbed to get to the second floor and swung one leg over the balcony. “Be careful, old man.” Hank gave Batman a wink before sliding down the curtain.

_ Ow, ow, ow. _ His hands stung from friction against the curtain. After landing on the canopy, Hank shook them off quickly. Was the line corny? Yeah. Performative? Probably. But Batman could probably use any encouragement he got. 

_ CRASH. _ The heat was rising in the room, causing the air to shimmer, but the source of the crash was clear to Hank. A metal light fixture attached to the ceiling had broken off and fell onto the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust. 

Kite paused for a moment, searching the building structure for any other potential weak spots. He was about to move on and check the basement, but a weak cry followed by a coughing fit caught his attention. Hank raced toward the downed light fixture, waving his hands around to dry and clear the dust. 

Then, Hank’s heart jumped into his throat. “Oh my god, Liz.” His friend’s right leg was trapped underneath the fixture. Behind her, small flames were beginning to travel slowly across the floor. Her face was stricken with panic as she frantically tried to wriggle free. “Liz. Liz! Hey, Liz! I’m here.” 

Her blue eyes flashed as they shifted toward his face. “Hey. You’re going to be just fine, I swear. I’m going to lift this thing up.” He pointed at the light fixture. “On three, okay? Then you scoot yourself back.” Hank maintained eye contact as he squatted down and gripped the large fixture.

“One, two,  _ threeeee-ugh. _ ” Hank extended his legs and pulled up with his whole body. Liz was able to quickly free herself, and Hank allowed himself to let go with another grunt. He darted to Liz, who sat briefly, as they both inspected her leg. 

There was some blood, and her ankle was already swollen, but Hank figured she would be alright. He wrapped his arms around her. “You okay?” He felt her shaking gently, and pulled back to look at her face.

He’d seen Liz cry twice before, and both of those times had been angry tears. He wondered if those were the only kind she had, as this instance matched the previous ones. 

Her face was wet, and her shoulders were giving the occasional shake, but no sound came from her. Liz fiercely closed her eyes, clenching her fists and jaws and taking a breath. “This is such a stupid cliche.” She groaned. 

Hank’s face instantly shifted from concerned to biting back laughter. “Look, I’ll wait awhile before I make fun of you, okay? At least a day or two.” Her eyes flashed at him but he saw her mouth quirk upward a bit. He stood up and held his hand out to Liz, who accepted, but upon pulling her up, she started to crumple again. 

“Oh. Oh. Ow. Okay, ow.” Liz muttered, keeping her right foot off the ground. Hank slipped her arm over his shoulder and acted as a brace for her. 

“Here you go. You okay to make a quick pit stop before I get you out of here?” Hank asked. Liz nodded, and together they hobbled toward the elevator. “I know you’re not supposed to use elevators during a fire, but we have to check the basement for any stragglers,” he explained, tapping the down arrow.

The elevator doors opened, and they entered. “Wait, Hank!” She grabbed his arm after he pressed the  _ ‘B’ _ button. “I didn’t follow you in here.” Hank raised an eyebrow, looking closer at Liz’s eyes to check for pupil dilation. 

“Stop. I wasn’t going to follow you in, but I saw that girl from before, the one who broke into my kitchen—she like, ran up the wall and jumped into a window on the second floor.”

“What? Are you serious?” Hank’s heart jumped back into his throat. _ Aubrey. _ Liz nodded vigorously. “Oh my god.” His mind raced as he painfully watched the digital display above the doors change from a  _ 1  _ to a  _ B _ . 

“This is the slowest elevator in the world.” Hank groaned, and just as he finished, the doors opened again, and they emerged into the basement. 

“ _ Hello?! Anyone down here?!” _ Hank focused his ears, listening for a reply. He got no response, other than Liz wincing at his shouting in her ear. “Sorry.” 

The room they were in was empty except for a few old boxes. Hank noticed one box said ‘Towels’, and threw off the lid. He grabbed a fresh towel and wrapped Liz’s injured ankle tightly with it. 

“Hey. Ow.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Sorry, it’s for your own good.” He grinned back at her, but his face shifted gears when a loud crash echoed above them. 

“Okay. I think I need to go upstairs and make sure that girl doesn’t get eaten by a clay monster.” Liz’s eyes widened. “I know how that sounds, but I’m serious. Will you be okay down here for just a second? I swear I’ll be right back.” 

She stared at him for a moment, which was more than fair. He’d just given her quite a lot to process. “...Okay. Five minutes.”

“Five minutes. You got it.” The elevator doors opened as soon as he touched the button. He gave Liz a wink as the doors closed.

* * *

Dick ignored the squeal of his bike’s brakes as he powerslid to a stop just in front of the Iceberg Lounge. He leapt off his bike and tossed his helmet to the side, bursting through the door with escrima sticks in hand. 

The lounge was essentially in ruins. The centerpiece, the man-made iceberg inside a small pool, was nearly completely melted. Dick shifted his gaze, doing his best to see through smoke, fire, and shimmering air, just as he’d been doing all night.

Nothing but fire and rubble seemed to occupy the first floor. He started forward and switched an escrima stick for his grapple to ascend to the second floor. Dick aimed at a section of the balcony that hadn’t yet been surrounded by flames, but before he could pull the trigger, the balcony wall exploded outward, chunks of drywall flying across the lounge.

Dick instinctively shielded his eyes, and quickly realized it wasn’t the fire that caused the balcony to shatter. With a loud, guttural roar, the conglomerate of mud shifted and stretched upward, pushing itself out of the rubble. 

Clayface was attempting to reform himself. Dick saw Clayface’s… face sloshing around in the gunk, the pure white eyes and horrible yellow teeth. In the background, Dick saw a black blur appear from the recently added hole in the balcony. 

Dick could imagine the quiet swooshing sounds as Bruce sent a pulse of electricity through his cape, allowing it to act as a parachute as he drifted gently down to the main floor. A small nod of Batman’s head told Dick everything he needed to know.

“Hey Basil!” Dick put on his best obnoxious Nightwing smirk and gave an animated wave to Clayface. “Any good auditions lately?” A low grumble from the monster became a roar as his face drifted into a position where it could see Dick.

“Hmm. Is that a no, then?” Dick tapped his chin with an escrima stick. 

“Kill you!” bellowed Clayface, and a stream of mud shot toward Dick, who gracefully sprung backward onto his hands, flipping again to land upright. 

“Okay, now which character are you playing with that? It’s hard to think of one who just says  _ ‘Kill you!’” _ Clayface roared again, and began to shape himself into a humanoid form. He lurched toward Dick, but was clearly having trouble maintaining his solidity.

“Can’t seem to stiffen up, huh? They’re making all kinds of medicine for that now.” Nightwing silently chastised himself for picking such a low-hanging-fruit, but remained standing straight up, arms folded over his chest. Another growl came from Clayface, who seemed now to be putting extra effort into solidifying.

Nightwing was thankful he didn’t have to expand on his previous joke, as his mentor finally yelled “ _ NOW!”  _ He wasn’t sure what Batman had been waiting for, but he leapt forward and jabbed his escrima sticks into Clayface, sending a high voltage wave of electricity through his body.

The mud/clay substance vibrated wildly, even starting to bubble. Meanwhile, Bruce dove and rolled his way around Clayface, firing one, two, three batarangs into the clay. Then, all at once, the batarangs hissed as they released the liquid nitrogen contained within them. 

Dick leapt backward, while Bruce took cover behind his cape. The hiss of the batarangs became drowned out by Clayface’s roar, but then, as his clay body was overtaken by the ice spreading across it, the roar died down into a gurgle. 

The hissing soon followed, lowering in volume until Nightwing and Batman stood in near silence, save for the crackling of the flames around them. Dick wiped sweat from his brow, and glanced toward Bruce, who kept his eyes trained on Clayface, despite the creature being completely encased in ice.

Dick’s eyes shifted across the room when the crackling of flames rose in volume.  _ Some kind of backdraft?  _ He couldn’t see any expansion in the blaze beyond what already surrounded them. Dick felt Bruce tense beside him, and looked back at the Clayface-sicle. Nightwing grit his teeth, knowing what was coming.

_ “Ding!” _

Dick’s attention was suddenly captured by elevator doors opening several yards away from him, and his partner walking out of them, wide eyed as he took in the scene before him. “ _ Get down!” _

Hank looked toward him and met his eyes, then dove behind a table, just as Clayface exploded from his cryogenic prison. A horrible, gurgling roar echoed through the lounge. Chunks of ice, mud, and debris went flying. Batman stepped in front of Dick, covering them both with his cape. 

The roar quieted down, seeming to sap the room of energy. The debris and dust kicked up by the explosion had partially smothered the blaze that had threatened to overtake the lounge. 

Dick ignored the dust cloud as he ran to where Hank had taken cover. “Hank!” His call was met by a small coughing fit. Hank rolled out from underneath the table cloth. 

“I’m not covered in dust, am I?” Dick grinned at his protege, offering him a hand to stand up. As Hank rose, Dick took in the stained dress shirt and dirty pants. “Well. You don’t look great.” 

Hank laughed from his gut, then changed to coughing again. He looked tired. “You should see the other guy…” Hank trailed off as Batman approached the duo. 

“That’s what I was worried about. The heat in here was too much for the cryo-batarangs.” Dick paused to observe for a moment, watching his student and his teacher exchange looks. 

“Red Robin and Batgirl should be almost done testing a sample they have. That could be a lead to wherever Clayface went.” Nightwing offered. Bruce was quiet.

“Hmm.” A few seconds of silence passed. “I assume it will take Clayface a bit to reform after the combination of extreme heat and cold.”

Dick could tell that Hank needed to say something. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but did either of you by chance see a young girl in here? Dressed in green and brown leather? Kind of renaissance faire-y. You know what it looks like, Di—Nightwing.” 

Batman glanced at Nightwing with an unreadable expression. He hated when Bruce did that. 

“You think one of the thieves would have wandered in here?” Dick turned to Hank.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter, I’m sure she’s fine.” Hank said quickly. Nightwing reached out to grasp Hank’s shoulder, but Hank jumped and pointed behind him.

“Hey, not sure if this is important information, but there’s like, a pile of sludge slithering away over there.” Hank pointed toward a gaping hole in the glass wall at the front of the lounge. Dick and Bruce whipped their heads around, following Hank’s finger. 

Sure enough, a muddy blob was shifting its way out of the hole. Dick turned back to Bruce and Hank.

“Good work, Henry.” Batman nodded toward Hank, who presented a small smile. Batman began jogging toward the hole to follow Clayface, and stopped for just a moment to call back: “And I’m not that old.” 

Dick snorted, looking expectantly at his protege. Hank opened his mouth, then closed it, shrugging. “I dunno, man. My mouth just says stuff.” Nightwing rolled his eyes. 

“I’ve gotta help Batman. You all good?” Hank nodded, then gave a sheepish grin.

“Just gotta grab Liz from the basement. Long story.” 

* * *

After the latest explosion, Cobblepot had taken shelter under the cot in the panic room. A minute passed. What was happening? He didn’t have the nerve built up to go back to his monitors. 

Then, he realized that the explosions within the Iceberg Lounge,  _ his prized territory _ , must have been the work of the same people who destroyed the rest of his evening. His eyes narrowed, a warbling growl forming in his throat. 

He rolled out from under the cot with some effort, and shot toward the monitors. He searched for some image of Rodger and Mary Duncan gloating, but saw none. Several monitors showed the burning debris scattered throughout the lounge. 

Batman, Nightwing, and Clayface in the parking lot. A blonde girl sitting against a box in the basement. A hooded figure wandering through the VIP Casino. A young man stepping onto the elevator... A feeling of deja vu picked at the back of Cobblepot’s brain. 

His eyes widened in shock, and he quickly pulled up his search history. He opened each of the articles on the Duncans, quickly skimming through them and murmuring to himself. “ _ Two sons, Henry and Tanner… found dead at the age of 10… Duncan will attend Bludhaven Community College this fall to pursue higher education...  _ There!”

He eyed the photo in the article. Sandy hair, green eyes... His gaze shifted to the young man coming down on the elevator. A wide grin overtook Oswald’s face as he grabbed his umbrella. “Coming right to me."


	22. Chapter 22

Dick dodged yet another swing from Clayface. “Hey, Basil, listen man. I’m pooped.” Another roar, another geyser of clay fired at Dick, who performed another miniature tumbling routine to avoid it. “I’m just saying, you know, we could call it a night.” 

Dick glanced behind him at Bruce, who was about a hundred feet away with Alfred, both of them kneeling in front of a suitcase Alfred had brought from the car. “Hope you two are doing okay back there!” Nightwing shouted in annoyance.  _ How long could it possibly take to make another cryo-batarang?  _

As he turned his head back, Dick ducked under a muddy fist, but felt a second one slam into his chest. Nightwing rolled with the punch, letting its momentum carry his body backward into a sloppy back handspring. Upon landing, he realized Clayface had grown an extra arm out of his chest.

“Ah, I see. I was expecting the right hook and even the left hook, but you knew I wasn’t prepared for the middle hook.” Nightwing tapped his temple knowingly. “You’re one smart cookie, Basil.”

“SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP!” Clayface’s words devolved into a primal roar, but then he regained composure. “WHY DO YOU NEVER SHUT UP?” 

“What can I say? I’m a friendly guy.” Dick couldn’t help the smirk plastered on his face. He loved getting under a bad guy’s skin.  _ Or clay. _ Clayface lunged at him again, and Dick sidestepped, but instead of barreling past him, Clayface planted his feet, stretching and contorting his body to twist around and crash into Nightwing.

Dick reminded himself not to panic, despite feeling for a moment like he was being enveloped in quicksand. He kept his legs stiff and straight, pushing away from Clayface with his arms. He glanced toward Batman, who stood up from his kneeling position.  _ Finally. _

When Nightwing shifted his vision back to Clayface, he saw only himself. His body was free, but his wrists were gripped tightly by the black and blue gloves worn by the imitation Nightwing. He glared into the domino mask opposite him, but was thrown back. 

Dick landed with a grunt, head snapping up to witness the imitation Nightwing flipping gracefully through the air. Nightwing knew exactly what was coming after the roundoff, and he rolled out of the way of the tumbling-powered roundhouse kick. Fake-wing, of course, wasn’t thrown off by whiffing the kick, landing with ease and spinning around to face him again.

Dick shot a look toward Batman, who was stalking toward them, no expression visible behind the cowl. Dick gritted his teeth and pushed himself off the ground. He wasn’t sure how exactly Clayface’s shapeshifting abilities worked, but Basil certainly played a pretty convincing Nightwing when it came to acrobatic feats.

In another situation, it could be interesting to fight someone who could go toe to toe with him on a trapeze, but this wasn’t a sparring match. And it had been a long night. Dick glared at the knockoff version of himself, and charged forward, flinging an escrima stick at the copycat. 

Fake-wing did another roundoff to avoid the escrima, flashing a smirk. “You know, I’m just now thinking about how weird it is that Clayface is behind all these fires and not Firefly. A real red herring, eh?” 

Dick suppressed an instinctive eye roll and groan, continuing his sprint and tackling the impostor. The pair of Nightwings rolled along the pavement, and Dick ended up on the bottom of the scuffle, pinned by Fake-wing. “Gotcha, you handsome devil!” 

_ I really hope I don’t sound that obnoxious all the time.  _ Dick shot a look toward Batman. “Will you hurry up?” 

His teacher stood completely still, observing the battle with his cape covering his whole figure. Then, a slight twitch from Batman resulted in a batarang sprouting from the chest of the impostor above Dick.

Clayface yelled in pain, rolling off of Dick and crawling away. The effort was pointless, though. Nightwing rested his head on the pavement as he listened to the sharp exhale from the batarang, and the screams from his own voice as Clayface was once again frozen solid. 

He opened his eyes and sat up, feeling exhausted and ready to rest. Nightwing took the hand offered to him by Batman and stood with his mentor. “How’d you know?”

Bruce exhaled through his nose sharply. “It was easy. He was trying way too hard. Overacting.”

* * *

Red and blue flashing lights invaded Aubrey’s vision, forcing her to squint to see through the night air. She felt exposed. No shadows were nearby to help her disappear. A crowd of people was divided into many smaller clusters. 

A trio in very expensive looking clothes spoke to a pair of law enforcement officers. She counted over ten tuxedo-clad men who were handcuffed. Police Officers escorted them one by one into the back of a large van. 

A small fleet of ambulances were arranged in a wide arc, treating burns, scrapes, bruises, or comforting people in shock. The patients also wore fine dresses and suits. Aubrey swallowed down a bad taste that materialized in her mouth.  _ How many ambulances would be here if these people weren’t rich?  _

She pushed the thought away, reminding herself of her priorities. Aubrey placed her facemask in the pouch at her hip and pulled her hood back before striding forward into the crowd.  _ Eyes straight ahead. You belong here.  _ She weaved her way through the high-class blobs of people, overhearing bits of various conversations. 

“—see their guns?”—“the lights”—“Bruce Wayne”—”get our donation back?”—”dress is ruined”—”the Batman!”—”We have to get in there!”

She stopped abruptly, glancing toward the Police Officer speaking with the Firefighter, then averting her gaze and honing her ears in on the exchange. 

“No one can approach the building before knowing if there are any more hostages.” The female officer’s voice was stern, but calm. 

“Who’s going to figure that out? Is a SWAT Team coming?” The firefighter’s concern was evident in his voice. He sounded young. 

“The Batman is in there.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’m not.” Her words now contained an edge. “He saved my life ten years ago. He’s why I became a cop. I trust him.”

Silence. “Okay.” 

Aubrey shook her head, refocusing herself. She started to turn toward the blazing building, but something tugged at her sleeve. Her eyes shot toward the touch, and she resisted her instinct to rip her arm away. 

A young girl, with some of the biggest, saddest brown eyes she’d ever seen, sniffled as she stared up at Aubrey. “Can you help me find my mom?” 

“Why don’t you ask a nice police officer?” Aubrey tried to keep irritation out of her words. 

“They’re scary.” The girl’s voice was small. Aubrey pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled slowly. She knelt down next to the little girl. 

“You’re right. They are scary.” She said with a small smile. Aubrey brushed a dark strand of behind the girl’s ear.  _ DOOOOM. _

A stiff breeze of searing air rushed past Aubrey’s face, and her mind briefly conjured an image of a giant blow dryer. The image was replaced quickly by the actual scene in front of her, the Iceberg Lounge had become a pyromaniac’s dream. Fire and smoke towered above the structure.

The little girl had begun trembling. Aubrey firmly grasped both of her hands, tuning out the growing murmurs of the startled crowd. “What’s your name?”

“Abby.” 

“Hi Abby, I’m Aubrey. You’re going to be just fine, okay?” Abby nodded, and Aubrey spun around into a squat position, inviting Abby to climb on her back. “Hop on. What does your mom look like?”

“She’s very tall, and, and, and, and she has black hair and brown eyes.” The poor kid was shivering against her back, despite the heat radiating from the lounge. Aubrey scanned the crowd, seeing multiple women matching the description.

“Was she wearing a dress?” 

“Yes. It was red.” Aubrey nodded and began walking through the crowd, taking hold of Abby’s hands around her neck. She’d become a salmon swimming upstream, as people shuffled away from the building in fright of the blast. 

A flash of shiny red caught Aubrey’s eye. The wave of people had a natural part, weaving around a woman in red who was speaking frantically to a police officer. The officer’s head bobbed up and down as he nodded and scribbled on his notepad.  _ Tall? Check. Hair? Check. Red? Check. _

“Excuse me, ma’am—” Aubrey was cut off by the reunion.

“Abby!”

“Mommy!” She smiled softly as she watched the mother and child embrace each other, compartmentalizing a pang of jealousy. Aubrey didn’t bother staying around for a thank you. She needed to get out of this crowd.  _ Eyes straight ahead. Breathe. _

When she was Abby’s age, she loved being surrounded by people. But she’d been through enough in her life to grow distrustful of a crowd. Aubrey’s feet moved automatically, pacing, side-stepping, hesitating, helping her to avoid any contact with the bodies moving around her.

She took cover in between two ambulances, grateful to be away from people and less out in the open. Her eyes drifted past the long line of luxury vehicles in the parking lot long before her. Could any of their owners be trapped in the burning building?  _ Is it better that way? _

“Excuse me, ma’am.” A hand touched Aubrey’s shoulder, dissolving the dark thought from her mind as she flinched and whirled around. The officer extended an arm, offering her hand for Aubrey to take, but Aubrey wasn’t one for taking hands. “You should step away. We’re expanding the perimeter for safety.” 

Aubrey’s eyes shifted from the officer’s eyes to her outstretched hand, then to her badge. “Connor” was printed above the dull golden badge. Officer Connor’s other hand gripped the radio attached to her shoulder. 

She wasn’t touching her gun, taser, or baton.  _ She won’t hurt me.  _ Aubrey processed the information and sprung backward, turning her body and side-flipping over the yellow tape. Landing with grace, she reached back to pull her hood up before sprinting toward the fleet of fancy cars.

“Hey! You can’t cross that line!” Aubrey barely registered the words, using her arms to vault onto the hood of a BMW. She played a giant game of hopscotch, leaping between cars and feeling slightly disappointed that she didn’t weigh enough to cause any major dents.

Reaching the end of the occupied lot, she let herself drop and roll, popping up quickly to run.  _ How long has it been since the blast? _ Her eyes widened for a moment as a blonde girl who looked around her age appeared in her vision. 

Was this girl going to try to stop her? Based on her expression, she was just as surprised as Aubrey, who dashed past her without needing to alter her course. As she approached the building, her mind threw together a plan.

_ Start high, work your way down. Get anyone you find out ASAP. _ Keep it simple, stupid. She slowed down a bit to set her feet, allowing her to leap onto the slanted glass wall in front of her and shift her momentum upward despite the steep incline. 

Aubrey dove through the remains of a window, rolling on her landing, and was immediately hit with a wave of heat. She began to cough and fished in her pouch for her facemask, sticking it over her nose and mouth. As Aubrey scanned the floor, she witnessed a window explode on the opposite side of the room. 

A shadowy flash of black fled from the broken window, as a mudslide poured out of it.  _ A mudslide? Indoors?  _ Aubrey crept, peering around a corner and involuntarily gasping at the scene. The Batman. The same Batman that had saved Jared’s life years ago? And some sort of swamp monster? 

The way the monster moved, twisting and contorting its body, made Aubrey shudder.  _ Does it even have bones? _ Not wishing to find out, she darted across the open floor and into the newly broken window. 

* * *

As soon as he stepped back onto the elevator, Hank felt all of his muscles threaten to give up on him. He may have set a new personal record for lactic acid buildup.  _ What a night. _

He realized he had no idea what time it was. He hadn’t looked at a clock since he’d gotten off the train in Gotham. The dinner party felt like a whole night by itself— _ before _ it got turned into a hostage situation. And after all of that, he started running around with Batman. 

Reflecting the evening’s events made Hank take in a slow breath in and let out a long sigh.  _ I really hope Dick doesn’t have anything extra on tonight’s to-do list.  _

Hank’s mind drifted to flopping onto the bed in his hotel room, and a lazy smile appeared on his face. The red  _ 1 _ above the doors became a  _ B _ , and the doors slid to either side. Hank’s daydream shattered, and his pulse quickened. 

Directly across from the elevator, Liz Carter knelt in the center of the dimly lit storage room. Her eyes flashed, not with the usual determination or humor, but with fear. Above her stood Oswald Cobblepot, boasting a deranged smile, and forcing the shiny metal tip of a black umbrella against Liz’s temple.


	23. Chapter 23

“Ah, Henry Duncan. I don’t believe we’ve met.” Hank glanced to the Penguin’s plump right hand, which clutched the curved handle of an umbrella, pointed directly at Liz’s temple. “Oswald Cobblepot, pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

_ Why does he know who I am? _

Hank stepped slowly off the elevator, feeling the doors slide shut behind him. He knew from Nightwing’s files that the Penguin had a whole arsenal of umbrellas outfitted with hidden tools and weapons. It wasn’t hard for Hank to imagine Cobblepot flicking his finger to press a button on the handle and firing a bullet through Liz’s head. 

“Okay, we’re all good here. Put the umbrella down, brother.” As Hank raised his hands above his head, he searched Liz’s eyes, which flashed with fear. “No need for anyone to get hurt.” 

Cobblepot began laughing, but Hank’s snarky wisecrack hadn’t exactly lightened the mood as he’d hoped. His eyes fell to the other grubby hand of Penguin, which gripped Liz’s shoulder. Hank’s jaw clenched in anger.

“Ah, bravo. A brilliant performance by a splendid actor. But you don’t have to remain in character any longer, Henry.” Cobblepot wiggled his eyebrows, and Hank resisted the urge to gag. “... _ I know everything.”  _

Hank’s stomach knotted. He’d revealed his identity to too many people in the past few weeks. Of course it was only a matter of time before his cover was completely blown. The Penguin cackled again.

“Poor Henry Duncan. The little orphan, left all alone in the world after his parents and brother  _ died _ .” Well, this was low. Hank had heard plenty of venomous words from the criminals he’d met, but none of them ever rubbed his dead family in his face. “Tell me, Henry. When your brother was shot in that alley, did you have to put fake blood on his body?”

Confusion flashed across Hank’s face before it was overpowered by rage. “ _ What the hell are you talking about?”  _ Hank spat. Cobblepot just laughed again.

“Oh my, the emotion! It feels so real!” Every cell in his body wanted Hank to rush forward, but he knew he couldn’t risk Liz’s safety. “Were you classically trained, Henry? You know, I’ll just ask dear old mum and dad.” 

The tension in Hank’s muscles was released for a moment, then immediately replaced by a different kind of stress.  _ What’s going on? Has he completely lost it? _ Cobblepot took his hand off Liz’s shoulder, and vanished behind his back, reappearing with a small brick of a cell phone in its clutches. 

His short, stout thumb clicked a few buttons, and Hank suddenly heard a dial tone buzz loudly out of the small phone’s speaker. One ring. Two rings. Hank couldn’t move. The third ring was cut off.

“Basil, what happened? Are you calling from a payphone?” Hank heard a woman’s voice over the phone. 

“I’m afraid Mr. Karlo is not here,  _ Mary _ .” Cobblepot trailed off into giggles. Hank’s brow furrowed. A second of silence from the phone’s speaker.

“What do you want, Cobblepot?” 

“Oh, simply to talk to you for a bit, Mary. Can I bend your ear?” Not giving her a chance to respond, Cobblepot continued. “If not me, then perhaps the guest I have with me can. You may know him. Rather tall, blonde hair, green eyes.”

Mary still didn’t respond. “Hmm? Nothing? I’ll be more descriptive. You instructed him to infiltrate my dinner tonight. His name is Henry.” 

“What? What are you talking about?” Mary’s voice had raised in pitch, conveying distress.

“There’s no need to keep up the facade, Mary.” Cobblepot snapped. “I know you and your husband think I’m an imbecile, but really, it was sloppy not giving your own son a fake name for the guest list.”

“Cobblepot, listen. You’re confused.” The voice on the phone had steadied itself, but still remained in a higher register.

“ _ Am I, Mary?”  _ Cobblepot growled into the phone. His head snapped back toward Hank. Though one eye was obscured by his monocle, his glare adequately displayed his rage. “Get over here, Henry. Any sudden moves and I put a bullet in her brain.” He ficked the umbrella in his hand, poking it into Liz’s head.

Hank took five steps forward, focusing on breathing in and out. “Kneel. Hands on the floor. Stare at the ground.” With effort, Hank followed instructions pressing his palms against the cold tile floor. A startled cry escaped Liz’s throat as she was pushed aside. 

Hank instantly felt the sharp metal tip of Penguin’s umbrella prodding the top of his head. “Get away or he dies.” In his peripherals, he saw his friend crawl across the floor toward the elevator. “Say hello to your mother, Henry.” 

His body wouldn’t move, but his mind was on a rollercoaster. When Dick was going to bench him because his parents could be involved in all of this, Hank had snapped in retaliation. “ _ I don’t remember them at all... They have nothing to do with this.” _

At the time, Hank hadn’t even believed Dick that his parents were alive. He hadn’t even thought about a hypothetical situation where he would be  _ talking  _ to them.  _ How do I even know I’m talking to them now? Cobblepot’s clearly insane.  _ A sharp stab of pain radiated from the top of his head. Penguin was losing patience.

“Hello.” Hank decided to just continue to follow instructions while he tried to think of an escape plan. 

“...Henry?” The woman’s voice quivered. Hank glanced upward, and quickly regretted it when he saw the sneer on Cobblepot’s face. 

Another jab into Hank’s skull. “Go on!”

“Yeah. Well. Yeah. It’s me.” Hank glared back at the ground, feeling his stomach lurch with disgust as he heard Cobblepot’s giggles.

“Are you okay?” A whisper came through the speaker. 

“Sure.” Hank forced bile back down his throat.

“Oswald, listen to me.” Mary’s words came in a rush. “Henry is not involved in any of this.” Cobblepot’s laughter grew louder, and Mary strained to increase her own volume. “He probably doesn’t even remember us. We—we abandoned him fifteen years ago.” 

“I’m sick of the theatre, Mary.” Cobblepot was no longer laughing.He brought the small phone right in front of his mouth, spitting as he hissed into the speaker: “In one night, you’ve done more than just take everything from me. The hospital, the subway. You’ve tarnished my entire family’s name. And now I shall destroy your legacy. Turn around, Henry.”

Hank glared up at the man in front of him and slowly shifted so that he faced the other way. He met Liz’s eyes across the room. He hadn’t looked at her enough tonight. Even with her ankle wrapped in a towel, her hair knotted from extreme heat, and her blue dress covered in dust and ash, she was absurdly beautiful. 

Her blue eyes flashed as they darted downward toward her hands, which were clasped tightly over her lap. Hank caught the briefest glimpse of metal in between her fingers.  _ What does she have? _

“Is Rodger there, Mary? Turn your speaker on, if he is! We wouldn’t want him to miss his son’s big finale.” Hank felt cold metal poke his temple, and hot breath on the back of his neck. Cobblepot’s face must be right behind his head. He grit his teeth. 

“See, Henry, you’re nothing to me. Your family is nothing. Worms. I doubt you’re familiar with Hamlet, but in the play there’s a beautiful soliloquy about life, and returning to the earth after death to be food for worms.”

“To be or not to be.” Hank muttered, almost involuntarily. He’d had to memorize the soliloquy just a few months ago for his senior literature class. 

“Ah! Very good, Henry!” A staccato cackle escaped Penguin’s throat. “That is the question.”

_ “Oswald, please!”  _ The cheap phone’s speaker buzzed, unable to handle the volume of Mary’s shouting. _ “Don’t do this!” _

Hank kept his eyes on Liz. She kept completely still aside from her fingers and hands. His heart pounded against his chest as he realized what she held. 

“Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...” His ears were unable to focus on Cobblepot’s words.

Liz cradled a small pistol. The same kind that the security guards had held.  _ Don’t. _ He begged her silently with his eyes, but her gaze was focused behind him. Hank couldn’t move. She was fine. She had gotten away. Penguin only cared about him. But there she was, slowly taking aim, putting herself in danger once again. 

_ Not to mention, me. _ Hank thought quickly. Since he started the vigilante gig, he’d maintained a perfect record when it came to being shot. He wasn’t sure about the total attempts, but the score was a lot to zero.  _ Be a real shame if Liz is the one to break my streak. _

While Hank’s mind was racing, the speakerphone was blaring with Mary’s begging, and Cobblepot had continued his recital.“To die—to sleep, no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to—”

For a split second, Liz’s eyes flitted to Hank’s, then back above his head. She brought the gun up swiftly and squeezed the trigger.  _ POP. _ “ _ Wagh!” _

Hank blinked. His brain sluggishly processed that the squawking sound hadn’t come from his own mouth, and that he was still alive. He snapped his head backward, clenching his teeth as he felt his skull connect with the Penguin’s long, curved nose. 

Another squawk, and an echoing clatter, as the contents of Cobblepot’s hands hit the tile floor. Hank spun on one knee, kicking his right leg up to and pushing himself into a standing position to take in the view. 

Penguin’s stubby hand covered his nose, but Hank couldn’t see any bullet wounds. Liz must have aimed too high. Hank took a moment to enjoy looking down at Cobblepot now that he wasn’t on his knees.

He dove into the shorter man, attempting to use his body weight to his advantage. Unfortunately, Penguin was gifted with a lower center of gravity than Hank. Suddenly he was in a wrestling match, pushing and shoving and rolling across the tile. 

It was difficult to keep a grasp on his surroundings while struggling with Cobblepot, but Hank felt himself getting closer to Liz. Without looking her way, he shouted “ _ Move! _ ” 

As Hank heard the uneven steps of her limping bare feet on the tile, he managed to smash Cobblepot’s cheek with a left cross. The little man warbled, and Hank realized too late that he was able to land the blow only because the Penguin had pulled one stubby arm away to reach out and grab Liz’s hurt ankle.

Liz fell hard with a pained cry, and Hank almost surprised himself with the growl that rose in his throat as he threw another punch into Cobblepot’s gut. He flipped the smaller man and struggled to find leverage to help him force his forearm into the Penguin’s throat.

Cobblepot was gagging and coughing below Hank, and Hank noticed that the monocle had fallen off of his face. Both of the Penguin’s beady eyes were visible, staring at something to Hank’s left. 

Hank whipped his head to the side to follow Cobblepot’s gaze, and his heart stopped when he saw the little man’s sausage-like fingers wrap around the pistol Liz had held before. Hank yelled, but couldn’t hear his own voice out as Penguin squeezed the trigger.  _ POP. _

Liz Carter crumpled against the tile floor. Hank choked out an unintelligible cry. His left ear was ringing. He clumsily lurched toward his friend, but the whole world moved in slow motion. 

Hank felt his fingers release the grip on Cobblepot’s collar, he felt the cool tile floor again as he tried to crawl toward Liz, heard another deafening  _ POP _ , and then felt nothing.


	24. Chapter 24

The room was nearly pitch black, only illuminated by flickering firelight that peeked its way through cracks in the walls. She immediately wished she had brought backup. John said the Iceberg Lounge would be the least dangerous site, so Aubrey had offered to go alone. 

Her eyes adjusted quickly as she prowled forward. Aubrey realized she knew where she was. The floorplan for the Iceberg Lounge appeared in her mind. John had requested she study it when he first agreed to work with Cobblepot. He was paranoid that way.

She surveyed the Aurora Borealis Room. After getting her bearings she broke into a jog, eyes focused on the dim light coming from between the doors at the end of the hall. The doors opened, and she had to shield her eyes. The room before her was filled with various gambling machines, each one featuring its own pattern of bright multicolored lights. 

Aubrey cautiously paced forward through the room. The abandoned casino gave her the creeps. She did her best to ignore the eyes of a popular musician, which seemed to follow her despite clearly being part of a sticker on a slot machine. She gingerly reached a hand out to feel the green felt of a poker table, tracing a pattern in the material as she kept moving. 

_ CRASH _ . Aubrey whipped her head toward the noise. A tinted window revealed that the fight between the Batman and the swamp monster had spilled onto the first floor. Another man entered the room.  _ Nightwing. _ It took a moment but she recognized the vigilante as he acrobatically navigated through the spatter of flames that spiraled around the center of the floor.

A glimmer of light caught her attention, causing Aubrey to snap her head to the right and shift her gaze to a desk a few yards away. She sidled toward it, keeping a hand on the knife at her hip. 

Another small flash came from the desk. Then another from the same spot. The flash repeated itself in a steady rhythm. Aubrey exhaled. It was a bell. A shiny desk bell, reflecting a dancing light from one of the machines behind her. 

  
_ Brring!  _ A smirk formed on her face. She couldn’t resist. Aubrey’s eyes drifted from the bell and landed on a door on the wall behind the desk. Unstained mahogany wood made up the face of the door. Ordinary in  every way, but something didn’t feel right. Her mind flitted back to the floorplan, and she couldn’t recall this door being labeled on it.

Effortlessly, Aubrey performed a small hop and slid across the top of the desk, then knelt in front of the doorknob, examining the keyhole in the middle of it. She jiggled the knob, listening carefully to identify what kind of pins she was working with. 

Her hands slid to her waist to retrieve a small strip of wire, then went to work, bending and kneading the wire carefully before she slipped it into the keyhole. This was the hardest part: Feeling the lock. She closed her eyes, jiggling, shifting, and finally turning the wire, hearing the satisfying  _ click _ . 

Aubrey wore a proud smirk as she opened the door, which twitched in confusion as she inspected the stairwell she’d just entered. Ultimately, she shrugged and started down the flight of stairs. 

She wasn’t sure that her discovery would lead her to any remaining people in need of her help, but she had a feeling it would take her to something that Cobblepot didn’t want her to see.  _ That’s gotta be worth something. _

There was no door at the bottom of the staircase, only an opening into a cavernous room. Aubrey tentatively peeked her head out of the stairwell. “Oh my god.” Across the otherwise empty room, a plethora of containers sat against the wall. The walls of the containers were transparent, revealing exotic animals of all shapes and sizes.

Aubrey stood dumbfounded at the miniature zoo. A sleek black panther, an enormous tiger, a crocodile—or at least she was pretty sure. _ They have the pointy noses, right?  _ Her silver eyes slid over to a pair of snakes, a panda, a rainbow of colorful birds, and a panda. 

Some sort of horn sounded, and she twisted her whole body toward it in surprise. Aubrey’s eyes became wet when she realized the sound hadn’t come from a brass instrument, but an elephant calf, tapping its trunk excitedly against its container.  _ Monster.  _ Oswald Cobblepot was a disgusting monster. 

Aubrey placed her palm sadly against the elephant’s container, and turned her head toward a squawk from the family of birds.  _ What can I do?  _ Opening the garage door and letting the animals out to roam the streets of Gotham didn’t seem like a good solution. 

Aubrey nodded to herself and pulled the phone out from her hip, quickly snapping several pictures of the containers. _ For evidence, I guess? _ “I’ll be back.” 

“Be back! Be back!” The birds echoing her brought a small smile to her lips, despite the depressing scene. She dashed to the other end of the room, where the concrete walls bent toward each other, threatening to collide until they agreed to continue run parallel to one another, forming a hallway. 

At the end of the hall laid another simple mahogany door. Aubrey crouched again and began to pull another wire, but realized there was no keyhole. She gripped doorknob, hesitating slightly before turning it and pulling the door open without any resistance.

As she stepped through the door and closed it behind her, she realized that there was no knob on this side. In fact, there was no door. Only maroon drywall. No crease or crack was evident.

When the door closed all the way, no one would have suspected anything about the wall. 

_ And now I can’t get back through that way.  _ Aubrey’s brow furrowed, and she turned around to scan the dimly lit room—a personal office, by the looks of it, adorned with bookshelves and books, some small lamps, pretentious-looking art, a desk, and a computer.  _ Is this Cobblepot’s office? _ As she pondered, her ears picked up a low buzzing noise, coming in with a strange rhythm. 

Aubrey quietly creaked open one of the double doors of the office, and the buzzing became more recognizable as a person speaking. Aubrey took a deep breath and adjusted her hood, creeping slowly down a dark hallway toward the voice.  _ No. Voices. _

“Very good, Henry!” Aubrey froze upon hearing her old friend’s name, wincing at the laugh that followed it. “That is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,”  _ What do I know these lines from? _ “Or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them.” 

“Shakespeare. Hamlet.” Aubrey muttered to herself. The voice reciting the lines wasn’t Hank’s.  _ Is he in the audience? What is going on? _

“To die—to sleep, no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to— _ POP _ —Wagh!” Aubrey flinched away from the gunshot, crouching low to the ground. The sounds of a fight erupted down the hall, the clanging of something hitting the floor and a series of grunts. 

“ _ Move!” _

_ Hank. Hank’s voice.  _ Adrenaline flooded her whole body. She sprinted forward and burst out of the corridor, only to find herself frozen again. Hank Duncan, maybe her oldest friend, was on the ground wrestling with the Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, while a blonde girl whom Audrey didn’t know was limping away from them. 

Hank punched Penguin hard in the face. Cobblepot flailed his arms in response. The blonde cried out, dropping to the floor. Hank punched again, this time in Cobblepot’s stomach. Aubrey’s silver eyes shot to Cobblepot’s right arm. _ _

He was clawing at a pistol on the tile floor. Time slowed down as the stubby fingers writhed in an attempt to control the gun. Aubrey’s eyes widened as they grasped the handle, and Penguin adjusted his wrist to point the barrel at the blonde girl. Aubrey tried to will her body to move—to do  _ something. _

Time resumed its normal speed—maybe faster.  _ POP. _ The blonde crumpled to the tile. Hank made a croaking sound and lunged toward her.  _ POP. _ Hank’s head snapped violently to the left, and he hit the floor. Cobblepot began to prop himself up onto his knees.

Aubrey charged forward, blinking hard to try and alleviate the the blur in her vision. Her left hand jabbed a needle into Cobblepot’s neck, and her right grabbed his right wrist, forcefully pulling his arm upward so she could drive her knee into it. 

A disturbing crunch reverberated from the forearm, and a cry of pain warbled from the Penguin’s mouth. The pistol dropped from his fingers, and before it hit the floor Aubrey kicked it away, sending it bouncing across the tile.

Cobblepot tried to stand up, but Aubrey twisted her body and propelled her heel into his back, causing him to cry out in pain and crumple to the floor. Her eyes burned as she placed a knee on his back; he wasn’t resisting. The sedative must have taken effect. Her face felt wet. 

Aubrey snatched a handful of thin hair on the back of his head and yanked it toward her. She sobbed as she drew the knife from her waist, placing it against his throat. Oswald Cobblepot had spent his whole life preying on the weak to boost his own status. He caged innocent animals. He shot her best friend in the head. He deserved to die.

_ I’m sorry. _ She couldn’t kill him. Aubrey’s fingers released the tuft of hair. Her other hand dropped her knife. She pulled her hands to her chest, and sobs shook her whole body. Her eyes opened, providing her with a blurry image of Hank Duncan’s body. 

Although her vision was obscured by her tears, she could make out his dirty blonde hair against the white tile, not yet soaked with blood. Aubrey continued to shudder, waiting to see the dark red liquid spread around her friend. How much time had passed? Aubrey couldn’t see a wound.

Her hands trembled as she reached out toward Hank. His hair felt moist from sweat, but not soaked. And its color remained sandy, not red. Silvery eyes snapped to the gun in the corner of the room. Aubrey picked up the weapon, swiftly unloading its ammunition.

_ Rubber bullets. _ She whirled back around to Hank, darting over to place two fingers on his throat. He had a pulse. He was alive. Aubrey checked the girl’s throat. A dark bruise had already appeared under her collarbone, but she was alive as well. Elation washed over Aubrey, causing a new round of tears to form in her eyes.  _ They need a doctor. _

Aubrey frantically looked back and forth, knowing she wouldn’t be able to carry both of them outside at the same time. Her decision was made. She moved to hoist up Hank’s body, but faltered. Her friend put on a mask and got into fistfights with criminals almost every night.

Aubrey’s eyes flitted to the blonde girl, noticing the towel wrapped tightly around her ankle.  _ He was down here helping her. _ Every instinct told her to drag her friend into the elevator, but Aubrey’s mind was pretty sure Hank would want her to take care of the girl before him. 

She let out a sigh, then shifted to a grunt as she lifted the blonde girl.  _ More muscle on her than I thought. _ The elevator ride was long. Longer still, was the walk out of the smoldering remains of the lounge and across the parking lot to the flashing red and blue lights. 

“Need some help over here!” Aubrey shouted, her voice tired. She yelled again. Finally, a woman emerged from behind a parked ambulance, running toward them. “Shot in the chest. Rubber bullet. One more inside.” 

Relief welled up in Aubrey as the paramedic took the weight of the blonde girl off of her. She turned back and ran toward the Lounge. Smoke still floated lazily from the building, but the blaze had mostly died down. 

The elevator tortured her again.  _ Maybe it would have been faster to take the secret passage again. _ Aubrey rolled her eyes. After her hair turned gray, the doors slid open, and Aubrey stepped in, her face contorting with confusion. 

The unconscious Oswald Cobblepot laid face down, right where she left him. Everything was as she left it, but Henry Duncan was nowhere to be found. In a flash, she scooped her knife off the tile floor, skipping over Cobblepot and turning down the hallway. 

“ _ Hank?! Hello?!”  _ Aubrey received no answer.

* * *

Dick stared at the elegant ceiling of his room at the Wayne Manor. He didn’t want to look at the clock. The combination of adrenaline continuing to pump through his veins, and his mind refusing to cease its rapid fire questions kept Dick from even closing his eyes. 

Nightwing couldn’t sleep. After living most of his life with an… unorthodox sleep schedule, he’d gotten used to occasional acute insomnia— _ Or did that just mean it was chronic insomnia? _ Regardless, that didn’t mean he enjoyed it. 

After giving up on willing his body to sleep, he sat up in his bed. His eyes flicked to the Flying Graysons poster on his wall, illuminated by moonlight. Dick felt a pang of sorrow at the thought of his late family. It quickly evaporated as he remembered he had just spent a whole night with his family. The family he chose for himself.

Dick’s gaze fell on his armor, laid out over a chair. His mask stared at him from his desk. _Creepy._ _Okay, back to the problem at hand. _How to get to sleep. Counting sheep? _No. _Play some soothing rainforest sounds? _Nope._ Glass of warm milk? _Ew._ Dick chuckled at his own thoughts. 

Nightwing thought back to his family. Maybe the insomnia was not a problem he could tackle alone. Bruce was probably still up, in the cave, but Dick wasn’t ready to try that option yet. He prayed Alfred was sleeping, the poor man. Jason could have been anywhere—but Dick doubted he was in the manor. He imagined Tim in the cave with Bruce, working with him or on one of his own projects. 

His mouth quirked as he considered calling Babs. He quickly shook his head. She was probably exhausted, and Dick Grayson was not one to send a “ _ You up? _ ” text. He let his hands fall and slap against the mattress. It was almost annoyingly comfortable. Then, a light went off in his mind.  _ That’s it. _

Dick knew he was always welcome at the manor, but he had made his own home in Bludhaven. He stood up and threw on a pair of sweatpants, shoving his suit into a bag and heading to his car. The drive home went by quickly due to his being lost in thought.

He replayed various scenes from earlier in the night, but kept coming back to pursuing Mary Duncan across Elliott Park, only for her to morph into silt when he caught her.  _ How long had Clayface been posing as them? Were the reports on their death correct? Are they still out there?  _ As he fell into his own bed, Dick had finally become too tired to continue thinking about Rodger and Mary Duncan, and finally joined the rest of the sleeping world. 

* * *

A hand squeezed Hank’s tightly. He looked up to the tall blob next to him. Facial features faded in and out of focus, only one at a time. Inside a dark halo, green eyes met his, then a mouth spoke gentle, comforting words. 

Hank’s eyes wandered back down, suddenly feeling two strong hands grip his shoulders and finding another blurry face inches from his own. This one was clearer than the other, a man. Dark blonde hair, a sharp jaw, nose, and cheekbones, but kind hazel eyes. “Stay here, Hank. Watch your brother. We’ll be right back.” 

The face rose above Hank’s eye level, and he tried to track it, but it ascended too high for him to follow. A baby cried out to his left, and he reached out, trying to offer comfort.  _ Knock knock knock.  _ Three quick taps on wood echoed over and over. Hank gently grasped a small, soft hand, and gazed into familiar hazel eyes.

A door opened in front of him, and a new blob leaned in toward Hank. He looked back to his left, no longer holding the hand of a baby, but a dark haired young boy, surrounded by a dark red pool.

The pool bubbled, beginning to boil, and Hank was pulled into it, completely submerged. A hand gripped his wrist and yanked him upward, out of the pool. The clearest face yet appeared. A square jaw covered in brown stubble, an toothy smile, blue eyes that crinkled with laughter, and brown hair pushed over to the side. 

The face morphed several times. A green eyed woman spoke warmly.  _ “Proud of you.” _ Olive skin and thick black hair, eyes obscured by a blue mask, which melted away to reveal bright blue irises.  _ “Not bad, kid.”  _ The blue grew deeper, the hair a bit shorter, the face fuller.  _ “Someone like you is more than deserving of some help”— _ The black hair grew again, downward to mask the blue eyes, and upward into two points.  _ “Get out of here, Hank.” _ The black cowl stretched itself into a top hat, revealing a monocle and a hooked nose.  _ “To die—to sleep, no more—” POP.  _

The gunshot snapped Hank’s eyes open.  _ Bruce Wayne is Batman.  _ It was absurd, but at the same time, he should have realized it as soon as he started working with Nightwing, AKA the original Robin.  _ Also  _ also-known-as Dick Grayson, adopted son of Bruce Wayne.  _ Of course he’s Batman. Kite’s suit must have cost a fortune, but nothing to a billionaire. _

Hank paused for a moment.  _ Ow. _ His head throbbed so hard he reflexively craned his neck, pressing his head into the pillow for comfort.  _ A pillow? Ow. _ His whole body felt like jello. He was in complete darkness.  _ Where am I? _

His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and he attempted to sit up. He gave up quickly as his stomach lurched, trying to avoid vomiting. “Jesus.” He muttered in pain. Even his teeth hurt. Without moving, he let his eyes wander around the room. Hank laid on a cot, partially covered by a blanket. 

Other than the cot, the room was completely empty.  _ Wait.  _ A soft crackle of static perked up Hank’s ears. He searched for the source in the darkness, finding the glow of a tiny, dim blue light bulb.  _ What is that? A radio? _ Suddenly, light invaded the room, and Hank shut his eyes tightly in recoil.

A woman’s voice spoke. It was vaguely familiar. “Hello, Henry.”


	25. Chapter 25

Dick sipped from the blue coffee mug, a small smile on his face as he finished with a quick  _ slurrrp _ . A privilege of alone time. His smirk drooped as the coffee ran across his tongue.  _ Should’ve used more sugar. _

He stooped down to scoop up the newspaper.  _ The Haven Record _ was struggling, and had restructured to focus more on their online platform. Dick still kept his paper subscription for his own interest, and for extra reading material in the gym lobby. 

_ “BATMAN, NIGHTWING SMOTHER FIRES, CLAYFACE” _

He couldn’t help but grin at the headline. When he was a fresh young Nightwing, he would cut something like this out and pin it up to a corkboard in the lower level. But over time he’d grown more secure in the Nightwing identity—he was positive that he was a force for good.

Since recovering from amnesia, for a brief period he felt less sure about Nightwing, but taking Hank under his wing _ — _ he smirked at the pun _ — _ had helped him to get back to his previous confidence. 

Something about needing to set a good example for the kid reduced his own anxieties, especially since Kite set such a good example himself. Dick’s mind drifted back to the feeling of shock at Bruce’s report of working with his protege. 

_ “He’s good. Still unpolished, but good instincts, very adaptable.” Bruce paused in the middle of removing one of his gauntlets. “He’s stubborn. Sometimes unfocused.”  _

_ Dick rolled his eyes, hearing information he’d already experienced firsthand. “Oh? The Batman thinks an 18 year old kid is stubborn and unfocused? Interesting.” Bruce continued removing his glove and gave the quickest of smiles.  _

_ “I know, I know.” A low rumble started in Bruce’s chest, and he covered his mouth with one hand.  _

_ “What’s so funny?”  _

_ “He saw Alfred wearing a mask and _ — _ ” Bruce paused, his voice slightly rumbling with chuckles. “He said ‘Nightwing, what happened?!’”. Dick’s eyebrows rose higher than he thought they were able.  _

_ “So  _ that’s  _ funny to you? But whenever I made a zinger you’d say ‘ _ Focus, Robin’ _ ?” Dick imitated Batman’s growl.  _

_ “Well you see, it was funny because the mask was like yours, but Alfred is much older than you—” _

_ “I get the joke, Bruce.” _

* * *

Dick flicked his wrists, straightening the newspaper. It wasn’t  _ too  _ vain to read the article, right? Batman had first billing over him, after all. Sirens exploded around him. The gym’s security alarm. He shot forward and leapt down the stairs of his loft, bursting through the  _ Gym Owner Only _ door and into the gym.

At ten in the morning on a Saturday, Grayson’s Gym would typically be bustling with members. But Dick had put out a notice that the gym would be closed all weekend for renovations. The benches and machines were empty, but the alarm’s siren still blared obnoxiously—then abruptly went mute.

“Hi.” Dick whipped his head toward the voice.  _ Small ninja _ . Yet another adolescent clad in green and brown leather stood at the front desk, next to the gym receptionist’s computer monitor, pulling her hood back and revealing long, pale brown hair and glinting silvery eyes. “Sorry.” 

Dick automatically got into character, reciting lines. “Who are you? I’m calling the police.” The girl frowned.

  
“Look, we don’t have time for this. Is Hank here?” 

_ Play dumb.  _ “I’m sorry, who?” 

“Hank. Henry Duncan. He’s your partner.” Unsatisfied with Dick’s acting job, she took a step forward.

_ Deny.  _ “Henry Duncan? I believe he’s just a regular member, not a partner. No, no members are allowed in today. The gym is closed.”

“Nightwing! Seriously!”

“Excuse me?” The girl had closed the distance between them. Playing his part, Dick backed up slightly.

“Henry Duncan, my childhood friend, is the secret identity of the vigilante, Kite. Partner to Nightwing. I’ve seen both Kite and Nightwing move in and out of this building multiple times.” The girl’s words were icy.

“What on earth are you talking about, miss? Are you with the police?” Dick felt sweat forming on his brow, and tried hard not to grit his teeth. 

“ _ Jesus, dude! If you don’t know where he is, then he’s gone! Hank is missing!”  _ After the outburst, the girl was breathing hard, her body tense. Dick met her glaring silver eyes, and after a moment, pursed his lips.

“Come with me.”

* * *

Hank’s eyes opened slowly, carefully attempting to avoid being blinded by the sudden burst of light. The light of the doorway was obstructed by the slim shadow of woman. Just as his eyes began to add details to the silhouette, he had to close them again, due to another light exploding above him, accompanied by a grating hum. 

“Agh.” The murmur escaped Hank’s lips involuntarily.

“I’m sorry about the lights, Henry. Or do you prefer Hank?” He once again fluttered his eyes, blinking hard. Green eyes stared back at him. It was almost like looking in a mirror, but the rest of the woman’s face didn’t match his. “Do you know who I am? Are you feeling okay? How’s your head?” 

The woman’s voice was kind, but she asked too many questions. Hank groaned internally.  _ My head is exploding, I am  _ NOT _ feeling okay, and I don’t know you. _ Then he squinted at her face. His brain was moving too slow.  _ Ow. _ It wasn’t exactly the same as he recalled, but he  _ did _ recognize the woman’s face. 

A man’s voice interrupted Hank’s thoughts. “Is he awake, Mary?”  _ Mary… _

“He’s awake. Give him a minute.” Her dark hair swayed as she turned her head toward the voice, and revealed a sandy-haired man, his face marked with blonde stubble. The woman’s face was soft with concern. His was tight, it seemed anxious.

Hank took a ragged breath. It hurt to breathe, and think, and speak, but he had to do all three anyway. “Mary Duncan. Rodger Duncan. My—” He paused, closing his eyes. “Parents.”

“That’s right, Hank.” Hank was too tired to open his eyes at the man’s voice. 

“Rodger, go get him some ice. His eyes look awful.”  _ Ouch, mom. _ Completely devoid of energy, Hank couldn’t resist as he drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

Dick closed his eyes tightly, covering his face with his hands. He already had a migraine. The soreness in his muscles from last night’s activity had flared up again. “Okay. Repeat that last part.” He exhaled loudly, peeking through his fingers at the girl who stood before him.

“Oswald Cobblepot shot Hank in the head. And some blonde girl, maybe my—our—Hank’s and my age. In the chest.” The girl glanced around his basement, likely distracted by the training equipment and Nightwing gear. “But, uh, they were rubber bullets. They were alive. I knocked out Cobblepot and got the girl out of the building, then went back for Hank, but he was gone. No trace of him, nothing.”

Nightwing was careful not to take his stress out on the girl, Aubrey. She and her boss may have been a thorn in his side over the past few weeks, but they had done their best to help last night. Plus, without her, he wouldn’t even know that his partner was missing. She could have prevented Hank from being killed.

_ He might be dead anyway.  _ Dick grit his teeth. When did this happen? How much time had passed since then? “Alright. So the girl saw the whole thing?” 

“Yes. I mean, until she got shot, yeah.” The determination in Aubrey’s eyes had dulled, revealing anxiety. Dick reminded himself that this wasn’t his first rodeo. 

“Then we need to go talk to her.”

“Do you know who she is?” A blurb from the newspaper appeared in Dick’s mind.  _ “Elizabeth Carter, among others, was taken into care at Haven Medical Center.” _

“We do. Elizabeth Carter. Hank was her date to the dinner.” A quick flash of emotion passed through Aubrey’s eyes, but Dick didn’t have time to think twice about it. “Get ready to leave. I’ll be back in a minute.” Dick swiped a fresh suit and mask from a drawer and darted into the locker room.

* * *

Liz sipped on her milkshake, a crease appearing in her brow. She was once again reviewing what she had told the doctors and the police. And of course, her parents.

After exiting the building, she ran back in to try and help anyone left behind. She ended up hiding in the basement, and Cobblepot appeared and shot her. That was  _ all  _ she remembered. It was mostly the truth. She just made sure to leave out any details involving Hank, not wanting to compromise his identity.

_ Slurrrp. _ Liz frowned, realizing she’d run out of shake. She gazed across the room, and considered requesting another shake,  _ or maybe a smoothie this time _ . But seeing her parents sprawled onto the two leather armchairs, fast asleep, changed Liz’s mind. 

She decided to let them rest, after she had nearly given them both heart attacks by disappearing last night. Their stress levels improved when they found her, but then shot back up upon learning she’d had her collarbone fractured by a rubber bullet. 

Liz was mostly annoyed that she couldn’t raise her right arm past her shoulder. She wiggled the toes on her right foot, feeling stiff from her swollen ankle. Luckily, she’d only suffered a minor torn muscle there. 

_ CRASH!  _ “Hey! Hey! Someone call security!” Liz flinched away from the sound of shattered glass coming from outside her room. She took several deep breaths, pushing away the fear creeping into her mind. A green blur rushed past her doorway, and two security officers followed, moving much slower. 

Then, silently, gracefully, a dark figure entered her room and closed the door. Liz’s eyes widened, and she heard father stirring. Standing at the foot of her hospital was Nightwing. The hero of Bludhaven. His lean muscles were visible through the dark material of his suit. His bicep flexed slightly as he brought a finger to his lips.

“Hello, Elizabeth.” Her eyes snapped to his mask. He tapped the side of it, and the opaque white lenses slid away, revealing some  _ very _ blue eyes. He glanced backward at her father, who did not seem to be stirring anymore. His eyes met hers again. “I understand you were with my partner last night.” 

His voice was calm, but he spoke with urgency. Despite knowing that Hank was Kite, it took Liz a moment to realize he was talking about Hank. “Yes?” It was strange to see Nightwing so clearly, illuminated by soft daylight filtered through the large window of her room. He was very handsome, even pretty, like Hank.

“I know that you’ve… met Kite a few times.” Nightwing took a breath. “I need—Could you tell me exactly what happened last night?” 

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“ _ Please, Liz. _ ” His face had become grimly serious, but he ran a hand through his hair and spoke again. “He’s, well, he’s missing.” 

“ _ What?!”  _ Liz barely managed to whisper-scream, as opposed to full-on screaming. 

“I’m going to find him, Liz. It will be fine, I swear to you. But I need your help. What do you remember before you were shot? Was Penguin—Cobblepot, did he say anything about kidnapping him?” Nightwing’s voice was less calm, more emotional.

Liz’s mind immediately put her right back into the dim basement of the Iceberg Lounge. “No. He was… Han— _ Kite _ —brought me into the basement to hide. We didn’t think anyone was down there, so he left to… he said ‘ _ fight a clay monster? _ ’ Something like that?” Liz bit her lip.

“What about Cobblepot?”

“He came out of the hallway—I don’t know how he got there. He was just holding an umbrella, but, um, I remember reading that his umbrellas hide guns and other weapons. He grabbed me and told me to stay still or he’d shoot me. Kite came back down, and Cobblepot made him trade places with me, so he had him at gunpoint. Then Cobblepot called someone on the phone. He said it was, um, Kite’s parents, but that doesn’t make any sense.” Nightwing had leaned forward, gripping one of the rails on her bed. 

“ _ His parents?”  _

“I don’t know. A woman answered, he kept calling her Mary. She seemed confused and upset. It was hard to hear her. Then Cobblepot started rambling about legacy, and said he was going to destroy Mary’s. He, um, quoted Hamlet, and then was going to shoot Han—sorry— _ Kite _ , but I had found a gun earlier, and was too scared to use it then, but when he was going to shoot him, I…” Liz began to choke back sobs. “I didn’t want to kill him, but I couldn’t let him ki—kill—”

“Hey.” Nightwing’s voice was soft, he gently put a hand on her left shoulder. “It’s okay. You did the right thing. Thank you, Liz. You’ve been very helpful. I’m going to get him. He’ll be just fine, like I said.”

She couldn’t do anything other than quietly sniffle. Suddenly, the door swung open, and a smaller figure entered the room. Liz’s eyes widened.  _ The girl in the hood!  _ Liz opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The girl pulled back her hood, and light brown hair flowed down from her head. 

“Time to go.” As the girl spoke, her silvery eyes flashed to Liz, then to Nightwing. A faraway clamor of noise echoed through the doorway.

Nightwing glanced at Liz warily. “Sorry about this. You’re probably going to have to change rooms.” 

“What?” Almost before the question got out of her mouth, Nightwing spun toward the window, and a black line shot out from his hand, shattering the window with another  _ CRASH. _ Liz’s parents both jumped awake. She used her left hand to pull her blanket up higher as wind rushed into the room. Nightwing wrapped his arm around the hooded girl, and vanished from the room with a  _ Zzzzzzip _ — _ whoosh. _


	26. Chapter 26

Dick grimaced as he checked the clock in his mask’s HUD.  _ 12:23 _ . Aubrey wasn’t sure exactly what time it was last night when she discovered Hank was missing, but Dick roughly estimated around 2 in the morning. Meaning 10 hours had passed since then. 

Wordlessly, he exited his car, striding toward the no longer smoking Iceberg Lounge. He felt Aubrey keeping pace behind him. Nightwing pulled open one of the double doors at the lounge’s entrance, glancing toward the young girl and gesturing with his arm. “Lead the way.” 

She gave a fast, small, nod and quickened her pace as she entered the doorway. Nightwing sped up, following her to the elevator. “This is a really slow elevator,” she muttered. His mouth quirked slightly. He could appreciate a nervous joke to fill the empty air. 

The doors slid open and Aubrey marched into the dim room, pointing toward a spot on the tile floor. “There. That’s where he was. I mean, roughly.”

“Sure.” Dick tapped the side of his mask, flipping through the vision options, but none of the settings revealed any trace of Hank.

“Do you really think it was his parents that took him?”

“Well, theoretically it could have been anyone. Or no one. He could have disappeared all by himself.” Dick stooped to the floor, tentatively touching a tile with his fingertips. “But they’re the only ones who make sense.”

“How did they know where to find him?”

“They were planning to use the benefit dinner as part of their plan for a long time. I’m guessing they would have had access to the lounge’s security cameras.” Dick stood up, folding his arms and frowning. “Dammit.” 

“Wait, I have an idea.” Dick raised an eyebrow, but followed the young girl down the hallway into an office he recognized. He’d been here with Babs… how long ago? It felt like months. Aubrey weaved around the desk and stood near the corner of the room, her gaze set firmly on a maroon painted wall. 

“Okay, this will sound crazy, but this is a door, of some kind. I came through the other side, and— _ oh my god!”  _ She slapped a hand over her mouth. “The animals!” 

“Whoa, slow down. This is a secret passage?” Aubrey nodded, and Nightwing cycled through his vision filters, but once again saw nothing of interest between thermal imaging, ultraviolet, and night vision. He stepped closer to the wall, running his hands over it gently, trying to feel for any sort of switch, or hollowed out spots. 

Dick’s brows knit together, and he stepped back, looking toward Aubrey, who shrugged. “On the other side, it’s a long hallway and a normal looking wooden door.” Dick turned to the desk, flipping the lightswitch on one of the strange lamps before feeling underneath the desk and checking through drawers.  _ Nothing. _

Nightwing glared at the desk in frustration, feeling an urge to sweep his arms across it and shove off the keyboard, monitor, succulent, and the stupid little bird statue that stared at him.  _ Wait a minute. _ He raised an eyebrow and reached gingerly toward the statue. Dick pulled the statue toward him, but it refused to budge. A knowing smirk appeared on his face.

With a casual flick of his index finger, the beak of the bird snapped upward to reveal a button behind it. “Whoa.” Aubrey’s words came out under her breath. Dick pressed the button, and a low  _ whirr-click  _ sounded from the corner of the office. A sliver of light appeared in the wall, as it had cracked open and swung backwards just an inch or two.

Aubrey lightly shouldered the door open the rest of the way as she jogged through the threshold. Dick was right on her heels, and she threw a glance toward him. “How did you know that would be there?”

He half-suppressed a snort and an eyeroll. “Unfortunately, I’ve been dealing with Cobblepot for a long time.” The corridor opened up into a larger room, and upon seeing the containers on one side, Dick breathed out a disappointed sigh. “Yeah. That’s pretty on brand for him as well.” 

“What do we do?” Aubrey pressed her palm against the transparent wall that withheld the baby elephant. Nightwing flashed back to his ‘pachyderm-pals’ at Haly’s Circus, and he put a reassuring hand on the young woman’s shoulder. 

“I know a few people at GCPD. They can take care of it, I promise.” He touched the left side of his mask, snapping a photo of his view. Two more taps sent the photo to the GCPD digital tip line _ —Babs is a genius for that— _ along with his coordinates. 

In the gray concrete room, the rather out-of-place wooden computer desk behind the tiger container caught Dick’s attention. He wandered over, an eyebrow slowly crawling upward on his face. A replica of the bird statue in the office sat on the desk, facing Dick.  _ Bingo. _

The button behind the beak resulted in another  _ vvvvrrrt _ sound, and a portion of the wall behind the desk slid down into the floor. He marched quickly through the opening, immediately identifying it as some kind of safe room. 

A cot sat in one corner of the room, and living across from the bed was a chair and a desk, featuring a keyboard and at least 12 different monitors. Dick sat himself at the desk, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “Do you know his password, too?” He flashed a grin toward Aubrey. 

“No reason to use a password on a computer you think no one can access.” He reached for the mouse, clicking around until he found the file he was looking for. Past security footage. He clicked the icon labeled with yesterday’s date, and the monitors went dark for a second, loading. 

They came back to life, revealing every bit of the lounge. Nightwing scanned through the monitors until he found the basement lobby feed.  _ Tap tap. _ He imagined the sound of a VHS tape being set to fast forward as the screen’s displays moved 16 times faster.

“Wait, slow down!” Aubrey pointed toward the blur in one of the screens, and Dick recognized the room full of animals, as well as Aubrey observing the containers. A keystroke set the playback speed back to normal, and he watched as the young girl on the screen ran down the corridor, finding herself in Penguin’s office.

A flicker of movement on another screen drew his attention. Nigthwing watched Hank wrestle with Cobblepot, who managed to flick a gun toward Liz and drop her, then do the same to Hank. Aubrey sprang onto him and disarmed him and laid the small man out on the tile. Dick’s eyes widened as she put a blade to the Penguin’s throat, then dropped it on the floor, curling into a ball. 

“You can speed it up again, a little bit.” Her voice was small over Dick’s shoulder. Nightwing nodded and tapped the keyboard, and watched Aubrey carry Liz onto the elevator at 2 times speed. Hank laid on the tile floor, unmoving, for one second, two, three _ —click! _ Nightwing fiercely struck the keyboard with his finger.

Two figures had appeared from the hallway, picking Hank up off the ground together, before the large figure slung the young man over his shoulder. The dim lighting of the basement obscured some details, but Dick recognized the dark hair of the woman, and man’s sandy hair was a near perfect match for Hank’s.

Mary led the way, and Rodger carried him down the hallway, into the office, into the secret corridor, past the animals and out the garage door. Nightwing sprung up from the keyboard, sprinting back into the large gray room and toward the garage door. He flipped a switch, gritting his teeth at the metal door’s groans. He felt Aubrey appear next to him, and the garage door rose enough to reveal the shimmering water of Gotham Harbor. 

A ship’s horn sounded, and in the broad daylight, Nightwing stepped onto the boardwalk extending from the garage door, glaring across the bay at the skyscrapers of Metropolis. Aubrey’s footsteps on the wooden dock caused him to spin toward her. He followed her gaze to the south, along the coast, where he could make out the smaller Bludhaven skyline. 

“They could have gone anywhere.” Aubrey’s words did not hide the frustration that drove them from her mouth. Dick understood entirely, his own temper rising in his chest. He clenched his fists tightly.

“I gotta make some calls.”

* * *

Hank took a hungry bite from his gyro, quickly shifting his body to avoid the hummus that dripped as he sank his teeth into the bread. Liz’s giggle across the table made him smile, the best he could with his mouth full of mediterranean food. Then, Liz’s eyes flashed, her expression changing to concern.

Henry reached a hand to his face, wiping at his mouth, feeling nothing, and then his fingers crawled upward, brushing the polymer of his Kite mask. He looked down in surprise, seeing his brown and navy blue armor cover his torso. 

A needle pricked his neck, and he fell backward, the world swirling around him. Faces leaned over him, Dick, Barbara, Jason, Tim, Alfred, Bruce Wayne _ — _ all of them wearing only the left half of their masks.  _ POP-POP-POP-POP-POP.  _

With each gunshot, a face disappeared, and Hank clambered to his feet, his vision focusing on Oswald Cobblepot standing across the room, an umbrella in one hand and a pistol in the other, pointed toward Liz Carter. Hank ran toward them, but his field of vision was tunneling. His mask pressed itself painfully into his face, and when he tried to rip it off, it wouldn’t budge.  _ POP.  _ The gunshot. He dropped to his knees, a scream escaping his throat _ — _

“ _ Henry!”  _ His eyes shot open, and he sat up, only to have his chest pushed down by a firm hand. Hank squinted in the bright light, and focused on his mother’s face. “Sorry to wake you, dear. You need to drink some water.” 

A plastic bottle appeared in front of Hank’s face. He groggily grabbed, twisting off the cap and taking a drink. The water began to heal his dry, scratched throat, and his mind became less foggy immediately.  _ Where am I? What’s going on?  _ His eyes shot around the white walls of the tiny room, which was windowless, and entirely featureless except for the small radio communicator at the foot of his bed. 

Hank suppressed the anxiety swimming around in his stomach, then winced in pain.  _ Jesus, my head.  _ His mind flashed back to the basement of the Iceberg Lounge. Wrestling with the Penguin _ —Liz.  _

His throat closed up again. She’d been shot, her body dropping lifelessly to the floor.  _ Wait. _ Hank had also been shot.  _ What the hell? I’m alive? Is Liz alive too? _

“Where is she?” His words didn’t come out the way he’d hoped. His voice was heavy with sleep. The green eyes of his mother studied his face. He cleared his throat. “ _ Hello? _ ”

“Who is  _ she _ , Henry?” 

“ _ L— _ the girl. She should have been in the room with me.” Mary cocked her head slightly.

“There was no one with you except for Oswald Cobblepot. He was unconscious.” 

“Hank? How are you doing?” The sandy-haired man entered the room and leaned against a white wall. Rodger. His father.  _ Not awesome, Dad.  _ Hank narrowed his eyes, looking back at his mother. Were they lying to him? 

Hank reminded himself that based on everything he and Nightwing had figured out, these two were likely the masterminds behind everything that happened last night.  _ Huh. _ How long had he been out? Was it still the day after the benefit dinner?

Frowning, he took another gulp of water.  _ Too many questions. _ Dick’s words flowed into his head, crystal clear.  _ “You’re a detective, Kite.” _ Okay. Sure. He’d start small, build a relationship, then work his way toward answers.

“My head hurts. And I’m a little confused.” He looked back to his father, who nodded. 

“We were too. We found you next to Cobblepot, both of you out cold.” Rodger’s gray eyes were familiar.  _ Tanner. _ Nearly the exact same curious gray as Hank’s younger brother. 

“Do you remember what happened?” His mother’s hand brushed his cheek. For a split second,  _ fight _ battled  _ flight  _ in Hank’s head, and instead of grabbing her wrist, he recoiled. Flight had won this round. “I’m sorry.” She said quickly, retracting her hand. 

“I don’t.”  _ Cough _ . “Not really. I was fighting with Cobblepot, and then everything went black.” If they weren’t giving him details, he wasn’t giving them anything extra. A moment of silence passed slowly. Rodger and Mary exchanged a look, and Hank bit back a slew of options for snarky remarks. 

“Here.” His father stepped forward and brandished a sandwich. “You should eat.” Hank snatched the sandwich from him and took a large bite. Peanut butter and jelly. 

Dark humor tickled Hank’s mind, as he ate a PB&J given to him by his parents, who supposedly died 15 years ago, but actually disappeared, leaving him at the door of an orphanage. He let out a sharp, low laugh after scarfing the sandwich down. He grabbed the water bottle and thirstily finished it off.

Rodger reached into a dark backpack, retrieving another bottle and offering it to Hank. He took the bottle and took only another sip. After eating and rehydrating, he felt tendrils of sleep begin to pull at his mind. 

He shook his head hard, purposely making it throb to wake himself up.  _ Ow. _ “So.” Hank looked between the faces of his parents. Rodger’s plaid shirt was composed of a few shades of brown rolled up slightly at the sleeves. Three buttons remained unbuttoned, revealing a white undershirt. A simple black top covered Mary’s torso, its sleeves only reaching three quarters of the way down her arms.

“I think you got some ‘splainin’ to do.” Hank finally concluded. He offered a small smile _ — _ just a bit of acting. Trying to build some good will. Mary took his hand, and he allowed her touch this time.

“Henry, I’m so sorry that last night—”  _ okay, so it  _ was  _ last night  _ “—turned out the way it did. We never meant for you to get hurt.”  _ What about everyone else you selfish— _ Hank hoped his expression didn’t betray his thoughts as he surveyed his mother’s eyes. 

“As soon as we learned you would be at the dinner, we changed our plans and took precautions to make sure you weren’t in danger.” Rodger offered his own small smile. Hank spotted dimples that he’d seen before in the mirror. “All of the security guards were only armed with rubber bullets. And you were supposed to be escorted out of the building before the charges went off.”

Hank stared at the wall as he listened, focusing hard to remain calm. Rubber bullets. So that’s why he was alive. And that meant Liz should be alive as well. “Charges? Like explosions? And  _ you _ were behind the hostage situation? You wanted to steal a bunch of  _ jewelry? _ ” Hank’s voice had sharpened, and he took a breath. “I just don’t understand.” 

His mother took a similar breath. “Henry, it wasn’t about stealing jewelry, it was about sending a message.”  _ What message? _ “The people at that dinner… They’re awful people. They only care about themselves and their money.” He felt Mary’s eyes scrutinizing his face. “It may have been a ‘charity’ dinner, but they only attended to make themselves look good, and to entertain themselves.”

The faces of George and Elaine flashed into Hank’s mind. They had only ever shown him selfless kindness. Rodger continued for Mary: “And what did they do to have so much money in the first place? They took advantage of people worse off than they were. The people who work underneath them. People whose hard work isn’t rewarded. They aren’t paid enough to afford food, or medical treatment. Lots of them have to work more than one job just to get by.”

Hank thought about Port’s Park in Bludhaven. The people in his neighborhood were exactly who his father was talking about. He’d even recognized some of them at Blake Perry’s rally. The run-down apartment building that Hank called home was filled with good, kind people. Hank saw some of them every day. 

He’d been asked more than once if he was willing to chip in because someone in the building ended up in the hospital, sometimes because of an on-the-job accident at a construction site or factory. Other times, they happened to be on the wrong street at the wrong time of night. 

The quiet anger traveling through Hank’s mind had reached a fork in the road. In a way… He saw their point? Hank thought about Aubrey’s words, and the way she tried to enact her own brand of justice. Didn’t he and Dick basically do the same thing? His mind struggled to contrast the philosophies, his head throbbing again and exhaustion washing over him.

“And the real target of last night was Oswald Cobblepot. Ruin his dinner, cripple his funds, and destroy his reputation.” Rodger’s words paved a path in Hank’s mind, tracing back to Cobblepot’s deranged speech last night, referring to Hank and his parents as worms. “It wasn’t  _ only _ about sending a message. We have a network that will distribute the valuables collected to impoverished people. We’re helping people. And all the billionaires and millionaires will be just fine without their earrings and cufflinks.” 

Hank’s head swam.  _ “From what I can see, someone like you is more than deserving of some help from time to time.”  _ Bruce Wayne’s polite smile. Bruce Wayne. Batman. Wayne was born a billionaire. But he became Batman. But he had raised Dick. Before Hank realized Batman’s identity, Dick had almost made it seem like there was no identity other than Batman.

Wayne had dedicated his life to battling corruption, helping the mistreated, and making those with power think twice before abusing it. He’d trained Dick, Barbara, Jason, and Tim to do the same. 

“One of the jewelry-collectors hit me in the face.” Hank found himself muttering. “No special instructions about that, huh?” He didn’t mention that several more of the thugs would have definitely shot him if he gave them the chance.

“I’m sorry about that, son.” His father’s voice was quiet. His mother said nothing, her eyes shining. Hank felt fury well up inside him.  _ Son? _

“What about the waiters and waitresses? The cooks? The bartenders? You know, the people working underneath the rich people? They were all hiding in the kitchen, terrified.” He was fully awake now. His head throbbed and his muscles ached, but the pain only added fuel to the fire he felt.

“They should have been escorted out before—”

“Before they  _ blew up? _ ” He snapped, cutting his mother off. His heart pumped the words up his throat and off of his tongue. “They could have died.” Cobblepot’s tirade into the phone sparked in his mind. “Cobblepot mentioned the subway? And a  _ hospital? _ Did you blow those up, too?”

“The risk was calculated. We needed a multi-pronged attack to distract the  _ ‘superheroes’ _ .” Rodger’s tone was darker, not as warm as before. “And we knew they would minimize casualties.” 

“You _knew?”_ A new wave of disgust fed into Hank’s rage. “You _knew_ that they would _minimize_ casualties? You were _one hundred percent_ _sure_ that they would clean up your mess? And you’re _fine_ with _minimal _casualties?” 

“Henry, please, try to understand.” Mary grasped his hand again, and he violently yanked it away. “We have done this for a long time. And we’ve helped so many people.”

“Believe it or not,  _ MOM, _ I am  _ aware _ that you’ve done this for a long time.” Hank’s whole body was burning. He felt acid on his tongue. 

“Forget it, Mary. The boy doesn’t understand.” 

“ _ The boy? _ ” He made his voice low and cold like Rodger’s. “You guys may have forgotten, but I am actually a legal  _ adult _ . I can’t  _ believe  _ my parents forgot my birthday. Fifteen years in a row.” Hank felt a rush of satisfaction as Mary’s eyes dropped. As angry as he was, this  _ was _ rather cathartic. “But to be fair, you were busy blowing up factories or whatever,  _ for the poor _ .” 

“Henry.” His mother’s voice was now cold. She had stood up from her seat at his bedside. “You’re not being fair, because you don’t know the whole story. The fire at Wayne Industries put us both out of work. We had nothing. I hope you never have to feel the pain of having children, and being unable to care for them.”

“Boy, I sure am sorry for you. I’m really gaining a lot of perspective, here. I can only imagine what it’s like to have nothing.” Hank’s fists clenched.  _ Push. No sleep. Ignore the pain. Turn up the sarcasm.  _ “And, that part about having children, is this you giving me ‘the talk’?” His lips curled into a grim smile. “Was that, like, telling me to use protection when I have sex? Sorry, I’m just new to this stuff, having parents and all.” Hank inhaled through his nose. His father’s face was tight with irritation, his arms crossed, hands gripping his biceps tightly. His mother’s flared nostrils and set jaw were betrayed by the wetness in her eyes. 

“Are you done?” Hank’s eyes flitted back to Rodger. “Sure. We weren’t there for you and you’re upset. If you want to whine then whine. But it won’t change that we left to give a better life to you and Tanner—”

“ _ Shut the hell up. _ ” Hank’s eyes blurred for a moment, but he didn’t have time for tears. “Yes. You weren’t there.” His voice was rough now. He needed a drink, but needed to keep talking more. 

“So keep his name out of your mouth. Don’t even think about it. You’re not his parents. If you were then you wouldn’t have let him get  _ shot  _ by some mugger when he was on his way back to the  _ orphanage  _ he called home. Instead you were off playing ‘economic terrorist squad.’”

Rodger’s tone remained low and cold in his response. “That kind of crime is a symptom of the wealth inequality we’re trying to fix.” 

“HE WAS TEN YEARS OLD!” Hank was shouting, the words scraping his vocal chords. He’d had enough. He began to swing his legs off the bed, but a chokehold on his ankles stopped him. He ripped the comforter off the bed, and saw cuffs around his ankles, attached to the wall with a chain. 

“What the hell is this shit? Gonna try and ‘stockholm syndrome’ me? You think holding me captive will make me agree with you? Love you? Call you mommy and daddy?”

“We didn’t want it to be this way, Henry.” Mary said quietly. Before he knew what he was doing, Hank had hurled the water bottle at her. He missed—she ducked under it, but the hurt in her expression gave Hank a small victory. 

Suddenly, a strong hand gripped his jaw roughly. Rodger’s stubble covered face was right in front of Hank’s. “Don’t try that shit again.” His father hissed at him, and Hank grinned back.

“Wanna wrestle, daddio? It’s been so long!” The false warmth in Hank’s voice dropped away, and he leaned in closer to Rodger’s face. “C’mon, Pops. Unchain me and you can show your wife how big and strong you are.” 

Rodger pushed his face backward, and Hank’s head hit the wall, exploding in pain. His vision blurred again. “You’re not tied up because we’re afraid of you,  _ son _ . Or because we’re desperate for your love and approval. You’re tied up because of this.”

He pulled a white blob from his pocket. Hank’s eyes weren’t working properly yet. He made out the familiar silhouette.  _ Kite mask. _ “You think you’re better than us? You do the exact same things as us. And then you come in here and run your mouth like that… Like a spoiled, entitled, ungrateful brat.”

The words evoked a wheezy laugh from Hank’s chest. “I didn’t ‘ _ come in here _ ,’ you idiot. You brought me here when I was unconscious, due to being shot in the head by a gun you gave to some other idiot.” 

His eyes managed to focus on Rodger and Mary’s face. “And to be clear, I’m incredibly grateful, especially after meeting you.” Hank let the words hang for a moment. “My life was  _ absolutely  _ better without you in it. Now get out of my room.”


	27. Chapter 27

“Got anything for me, Tim?” Nightwing kicked open another door, only to find yet another empty room. He retrieved his notepad and crossed off yet another address.

“Still no signal from Kite’s tracking implant, or the tracker in his mask. Sorry, Dick.” Dick sighed in exasperation, resisting the urge to throw his commlink at the wall.

“Thanks, Tim. Keep up the good work on the virtual search. Nightwing out.” Nightwing threw open the window and leapt out into the Gotham daylight. 

“ _ Ahem.”  _ The buzz in his ears drew the smallest of smirks to his face. 

“Sorry, Babs. You are  _ also _ doing great work in the digital realm. If you didn’t pull these addresses from their PC, we’d be at a complete dead end, and I’d have gone crazy.” Dick’s grapple found purchase on a roof and he swung toward the next safehouse on his list. 

“We only need the appropriate amount of crazy from you, Grayson.” The smile in Babs’s voice made Dick feel better, but he was still frustrated. She read his mind. “Hey. We’re going to find him. It’s only a matter of time.” 

“Not to be the bearer of bad news, but we’re close to the end of the Metropolis addresses, and still nothing.” Jason had agreed to scour all of Metropolis, aided by Supergirl. Dick had taken uptown Gotham. Bruce took downtown. Aubrey and a few other small ninjas were running the streets of Bludhaven. Tim and Babs were on the cyber-chase. 

“You’re good, Jay. Let me know when you’re all done. Thanks for checking in.” Dick couldn’t possibly be annoyed with his brother’s less than optimistic attitude. He was too overwhelmed with appreciation for his family’s help.

There was no way that the Duncans could outsmart nearly the whole Bat-family, right? They were missing Damian, but Dick hoped it wouldn’t matter. Then again, the fact that they had so many safehouses in the first place showed how successful they’d been at avoiding discovery so far. It was amazing to him that they’d built up so many resources.

The next window, he swung straight through, unconcerned with the shattering glass. The abandoned complex had been purchased by Waynetech, and was scheduled for demolition and reconstruction in just a few days. 

_ Plus, I kind of own it, if you think about it.  _ This studio apartment was empty as well. Dick crossed the name off his list then put his hands on his hips to catch his breath. 

“Any luck, Batman?” Dick asked hopefully.  _ Please, please have found something. _

“Twelve addresses to go. Nothing else to report so far.”  _ All business, as usual.  _ In moments like this, it was easy for Dick to appreciate Bruce’s unwavering focus on  _ the mission _ . “Nightwing. Are you positive it wouldn’t be helpful to interrogate the imposter security guards from the dinner?”

Nightwing shook his head. “I don’t think so, Batman. It would be a real surprise to me if the guards knew anything about the Duncans, aside from what they were going to be paid.” 

“Hmm.” Possibly Batman’s most common response. “Eleven addresses remaining.” Dick’s eyes fell to the floor. “Nightwing. We  _ will  _ find Kite.” The simple, determined words of encouragement re-energized Dick.

“That’s right. Thanks Batman, good work. Nightwing out.” He looked at his own list. Nine addresses left. Nine more chances to find Hank. 

He swung himself out the window, and fired his grapple above him, zipping up the side of the building and onto the roof. “Uh, hello, Nightwing? Come in, Nightwing? Over?” An unsure voice spoke into his ear. He switched channels.

“I’m here. Go ahead, Aubrey.” 

“Well, I haven’t seen anything yet, but a friend thinks they might have something. Uh, over.” Dick frowned.  _ Vague. _ He didn’t have time for ‘might’ or ‘maybe’. 

“Can you be more specific?” 

“A shipment of potassium hydroxide was delivered to the Ener-Mag Warehouse. You said that was part of what they used to make the firebombs, right?” 

“That’s right, but it’s also used in batteries, and Ener-Mag is a large batter supplier.” Dick tried not to let disappointment creep into his voice. “Thanks for the update, but go ahead and go back to—”

“Hey, wait! I wasn’t done! I didn’t say over!” She protested, and Dick was pleased to find himself smiling at her words, offering a quick ‘sorry’. “The shipment was delivered, but it’s not in their inventory. It went missing somehow. Could it have been the Duncans?”

Dick’s mind raced. “Babs, can you pull up a map of the Bludhaven Safehouses?” 

“One second.” He heard a flurry of keystrokes and clicks in the background. “Okay.”

“Ener-Mag is on the corner of 10th and Pier—is there a safehouse nearby?” Dick paced back and forth on the roof. 

“Hmm. Not really.”  _ Damn. _ His gut had been telling him that this lead was the one. “The closest ones are each about two miles away, 10th and Inland, and also 19th and Harbor.”

Dick placed a finger on his chin. “Can you send the map to me?” An icon appeared on his HUD, and he tapped his mask to open it. “Thanks.”

Dick scanned the slightly translucent map of his city. Small red dots were lit up on various street corners. A small smirk crept onto Nightwing’s face. “Babs, how likely is it that they could have safehouses that are  _ not _ on our list?”

“Uh, very likely. I mean, they could be anywhere, but that’s not very optimistic thinking.”

“I know, but I have an idea. You said the closest places to Ener-Mag were each about two miles away. Well, looking at the map, almost every dot is roughly two miles away.” Dick was full on grinning now. Was it a sure-thing? No, but it might be the hottest lead they had.

“That’s perfect! They could have a place around there!” Barbara’s enthusiasm helped widen his smile.

“Let’s hope so. You’re the best, Babs. Nightwing out.” Dick switched back to the private channel with Aubrey. “Have you already checked the places at 10th and Inland, and 19th and Harbor?”

“Uh, yes. And yes. Sorry, Nightwing.” Aubrey sounded disparaged.

“Don’t be, that’s good news!” Dick exclaimed. “Get to the Ener-Mag building and look around for any potential safehouses. I’ll meet you there.” 

“Alright, I’m on it.”

“Don’t forget to say ‘over and out’.” Dick was suddenly in a teasing mood.

“Ha. Over and out.” She wasn’t as energetic as he was, but her voice was a bit brighter.

Dick switched channels once again. “Batman, I need to borrow the jet.”

* * *

It was a little petty that they left the light on. Hank managed to fall asleep anyway, but he couldn’t help but feel offended.  _ It’s not like a convenience thing. I couldn’t get up and turn off, even if I wanted to! _

He ultimately decided the light was good. Annoyingly bright was better than pitch black. He’d been awake for… How long? It was tough to tell. When he woke up there was another water bottle and a sandwich on the floor next to his bed, just barely within reach. But which meal was that supposed to be? Dinner? Breakfast? Lunch? Brunch?

It was nice that his parents didn’t want him to starve. Hank did, however, suspect that they weren’t as concerned about his mental health. Sensory deprivation was a good way to go crazy. When he first woke up, after eating, he was determined to come up with an escape plan. He came up with a few options, but he’d have to get incredibly lucky for each of them to work.

He talked to himself for a while. He tried yelling for help for a bit, but became convinced that the room was soundproof. At one point, he switched to talking directly to his parents, despite getting no response. The little blue light on the radio across the room was still glowing, so they had to have heard him.  _ Unless they weren’t there _ . 

He sang a few songs, getting really into a few. Unfortunately, the chains restricted his dancing quite a bit. Hank discovered that the chains ran all the way to the corner of the room to his left, attached to the wall underneath the bed frame. He was able to move pretty much anywhere he wanted on the bed, even sitting at the edge or standing on top of it, though he couldn't stand straight up due to the low ceiling.

Eventually, his voice felt sore again, and he resorted to keeping his words in his head. He tried to estimate the size of the room.  _ Roughly 8 foot ceiling, maybe. The bed’s a twin, I think, so the walls are probably 12x12? But it’s not a square, so maybe 12x16.  _ He thought about asking the radio, but doubt he’d get an answer. He was still waiting on a reply to his request for a TV.

He spent some time coming up with more snarky remarks to make the next time he saw his folks, but even got bored of that after a while. His eyes fell on his mask, sitting on the floor in the middle of the room, staring at him. Did it just happen to land that way after being dropped? Or did Rodger or Mary position it that way?

He could see his father doing it to taunt him, or speed up his mental deterioration.  _ I did yell at him pretty good, after all.  _ His mother seemed to feel guiltier, and empathized with him more. Maybe she set the mask up to be a friend. 

_ I will not talk to a mask. What’s that movie Scott likes? Castaway?  _ He struggled to recall the film. There was a basketball made into a friend, maybe?  _ Oh! I should ask for a basketball!  _ Hank frowned.  _ Not to be my friend, of course. But I could dribble around or something. Maybe stick a little hoop on the wall? _

He began imagining the room as though he lived there. It was actually probably smaller than his studio apartment, but hey, it was home. There wasn’t much room, but he made do. He’d store his clothes under the bed in drawers. He could probably fit a small desk in here somewhere. Maybe put some of Will’s art on the wall.  _ Hmm _ . Where would he keep his kite suit? He’d probably have to hide it. 

His thoughts were suddenly invaded, as his room was invaded. The door swung open, and Mary closed it behind her, a water bottle in her hand.

“Oh, mom! Wait, don’t come in, it’s a mess in here. I need to clean up.” Hank looked around the room and dusted off his hands. “Okay! All done.” His mother didn’t seem to find the performance funny, but it was mostly for his own benefit, anyway. She handed him the water bottle. 

“If you throw this at me, it’ll be the last one you get.” Hank snatched it from her hand and searched her eyes, considering calling her bluff. He ultimately decided to unscrew the cap and take a swig, purposely making a loud “Ahh!” sound to express his refreshment. “How’s your head?” She asked quietly.

He touched the back of his head thoughtfully. He thought of a few more rude things to say. “It’s alright. Better than before.” 

“That’s good.” Mary didn’t step toward Hank. It looked like she may have wanted to, but instead she remained still taking a deep breath. “Henry, again, I’m sorry.” She paused, her eyes continuing to rest on his own. Hank wasn’t sure if she was done speaking, but he decided to cut in anyway.

“I’m not trying to be mean when I ask this, but what are you apologizing for?” Hank spoke matter-of-factly. He’d reached his emotional catharsis earlier. No need for yelling. “I mean—I’m not going to forgive you. I can’t think of a single thing that I would forgive you for. Once again, I’m not trying to be an ass. I’m just being honest. I don’t know. If you feel bad and need to say sorry then that’s fine, I guess, but I’m not going to tell you not to feel bad.”

Hank could have said more, but decided to leave it there, staring back at his mother’s green eyes. After a long time, she responded. “That’s fair. You have no reason to forgive me, or your father. And I think you’re right that I should feel bad. I’ve been a terrible mother. I haven’t been one at all, really. It’s silly for me to try to apologize. But something about seeing you, all these years later, maybe it’s some hormone that comes from being a parent, I don’t know. I felt like I had to try.” She also spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. 

Hank admitted that it actually felt nice to be completely honest, and to have nothing to prove. It would be  _ very _ rare for someone to find themselves in his situation, but if they did, he could tell them it wasn’t all bad. “I guess I understand. Sort of.” Hank almost began to apologize for throwing the bottle at her earlier, then he laughed at himself. He wasn’t sorry for that at all.  _ I’m being held prisoner. She can get over the water bottle thing. _

“For some reason, it feels like… Well I didn’t  _ know _ , but I wasn’t surprised that you weren’t actually dead. I have this blurry memory—it’s a dream I have sometimes, of putting on a backpack and being dropped on the doorstep of an orphanage with Tanner, who was a baby. Did that happen?”

“Yes.” She said quietly. Her eyes fell down to his mask at her feet.

“Hmm.” Hank lowered his own eyes and stared into the eyeholes. “Yeah that probably has something to do with the whole mask thing.” He didn’t bother looking at Mary’s face, continuing his staring contest with his mask. 

“I’m no shrink, but if I had to guess… Because I’ve had the feeling that my parents abandoned me all my life, deep down, I don’t think I’m deserving of help or love from other people. Something like that. So I put on a mask and get beat up and shot at, trying to help other people. Earn their love. Overcompensating, you know?”

He glanced back up to Mary’s face, but she seemed to be focused only on the white wall behind him. Her eyes look exhausted. She took her slowest, deepest breath yet. “Are you hungry? Do you need more food?” Hank shrugged.

“Nah. I’m alright. Could you hand me that, though?” He pointed down to the mask. She raised an eyebrow. “Just, like, to have something to hold. Fiddle with, you know? I think I’m also ADHD. By the way, what time is it? How long are you going to keep me here, anyway? Like, what’s your long term plan?”

“I don’t know, Henry.” Her voice wasn’t quite cold, she sounded more tired than irritated. Hank blinked a few times. After an eternity, Mary bent down and tossed the mask to him. She stood up and brushed off her legs. “If you need food or water, use the radio.” Her eyes were locked to the ground as she left the room.

“Okie dokie!” He called, hoping it got through the door before she shut it. He turned to his mask.  _ Okay. Time to get incredibly lucky. _

* * *

Perched on the roof of the Ener-Mag building, Dick Grayson frowned, turning around in a slow circle for the fourth time in a row. He scanned the surrounding buildings, refusing to allow the hope in his chest to falter. 

A newly built set of condos, not yet even open for leasing, seemed to shine in the afternoon light. Since no one would be living there yet, he went ahead and checked every unit in the complex, coming up empty handed. Nightwing’s gaze traveled to the brightly lit Pier Mall. Twelve stories of tightly packed retail stores, perfume and sunglasses kiosks, and restaurants. 

He doubted that Mary and Rodger would manage to hide in the crowded building, but he’d sent Aubrey in anyway, jokingly requesting a soft pretzel and a smoothie if she had time. She hadn’t radioed in yet, and DIck figured he should give her another few minutes before checking. He pivoted again, taking in the shimmering blue waters of the Bludhaven Harbor. 

The waves, seafoam, gulls, and a few ships were visible between the girders which represented the skeleton of the Wayne Energy Plant. Nightwing glanced down at the sign in front of the construction site.  _ “Wayne Energy’s Vision: A Haven of Clean Energy”. _ Dick was thrilled that Waynetech’s first foray into energy was taking place in Bludhaven.

A clean energy source in the ‘Haven, a variety of job opportunities for Bludhaven citizens, and, just as Dick had first explained to Lucius Fox and Bruce, lower property and construction costs for Waynetech. 

“Hey, ‘Wing, we’re all out of safehouses here in Metropolis. No dice. Sorry, man.” Dick poked a finger in his ear to steady the buzzing of his commlink. He grimaced, the wheels in his brain spinning uselessly.

“Thanks, Jay. Kara still with you?” Dick tried to think of a new tact for Jason to try, but exhaustion was limiting his imagination.

“I’m here!” Dick couldn’t help but smile at the bright voice of Supergirl. Her spunk was infectious. 

“Thanks so much for your help, Kara. Uhh, I guess if you know anywhere in the city that’s a good spot to listen for trouble, you could go there? Let the super-ears do their thing?”

“We’re on it, Dick. I’ll keep you posted if we hear anything.” Dick could tell that Jason was putting in an effort to sound more positive. He absentmindedly nodded.

“Okay. Thanks, Jason. Nightwing out.” Dick turned again, glaring at the Pierside Hotel across the street. Both Babs and Tim had checked the reservation list, and neither found any fake or suspicious names. He still felt frustrated that he couldn’t do more himself to investigate the hotel. 

“Uh, hello? Nightwing?”

“I’m here Aubrey.”

“I’m done at the mall. You were right. There’s nowhere to hide in there…” Dick grunted in response, raising a hand to his face, gripping his jaw and tapping impatiently with his index and middle finger. “... Did you still want a pretzel?”

The effort at humor didn’t fully pierce Nightwing’s scowl, but it did cause him to exhale through his nose. He could understand why she and Hank were friends. Joking in the face of anxiety could forge a strong bond. “No thanks, Aubrey.” He took a breath and dropped from the rooftop, rappelling down the building. “I’m going to go back to the drawing board and figure out a next move.”

“What can I do?” Dick frowned at her question.  _ I don’t know. _

“Err, check in with your friends. Compare notes. Maybe try to find any other suspicious package deliveries from today?” She was silent for a moment, as Dick approached the ground. 

“Alright.” A fair reply, based on the situation. Dick touched down and retracted the grapple with a quick  _ vvvvvrrrrt! _ He began to trek toward his bike in the alley. Maybe he could contact Scott or Jan? Could they know something about Hank? Even if they didn’t, it was probably time to let them know—

He swatted at his neck, his head glancing around. The  _ vvrrrrr _ sound from his grapple wouldn’t leave his ears. He didn’t see any bugs nearby. He tapped his commlink. “Hello?” 

“What’s up?” Aubrey’s voice interrupted the buzzing. 

“Nothing, sorry.” Dick shook his head. After the comms fiasco they’d had last night, he was sure the piece in his ear was on the fritz. He removed it and hopped onto his bike.  _ Vvrrrvrrzz. _ As soon as he put on his helmet, the buzzing not only returned, but somehow grew. There was a strange pattern to it.

He smacked his helmet in frustration, doing nothing to silence the buzzing. Nightwing revved his engine and cruised out of the alleyway, turning toward the ocean to head toward the office of Scott Daniels. 

_ VVRRRZZTTRRVVTT.  _ Dick suppressed a growl, trying not to throw a tantrum. The bike helmet’s speakers automatically increased in volume to compete with the engine, and doing so caused the buzzing to be amplified even more. He braked, added a screech of tires on pavement to the orchestra happening just for him. 

_ VRrrzsskkrrzzzvvvv _ — _ less room. Chained _ — _ rrzz _ — _ wall. _ Dick’s eyes widened. Through a filter of static and buzzing, he heard a familiar voice.  _ Hank? Am I imagining this?  _ He quickly parked his bike on the side of the road and hopped off, setting his helmet down on the back. Dick’s finger flew to the side of his mask, turning up the volume of the speaker. More static.  _ Zzzzttttt _ — _ hello _ — _ rrrvvv. _

“Hello? Hello? Hank? Kite?” Dick began running down the sidewalk, but got no response. In fact, the buzzing in his ears had quieted. He tapped his mask again, but his volume was all the way up. He heard nothing. Dick spun around, walking slowly backward.  _ Sskkvvvrrzt _ — _ trapped in _ — _ wwvvvssss _ — _ room. Chained to _ — _ wwrraazzz.  _

Despite walking in broad daylight, Dick was so focused on trying to make out the words that he almost slammed into the dark sign in front of him.  _ “A Haven of Clean Energy”.  _ Nightwing’s eyes snapped from the text on the sign to the dusty construction site. Above him was nothing but girders.  _ No way to hide up there. _

Dick gazed into the pit below him. The foundation and basement formed by the cement in the pit was completely empty. He narrowed his eyes, stalking along the side of the pit.  _ Swrrrvvvv _ — _ hello _ — _ rrrmm _ — _ not sure _ — _ fffzzznntt _ — _ hear thissszzzzrrr _ —More words were becoming clear. Dick’s heart had leapt into his throat. A large, dull yellow shipping container behind the skeletal building caught his eye, and he dashed over. 

It all started to make sense in Nightwing’s head. Thanks to Bruce giving a large donation to Cobblepot, so that the dinner would change dates, Waynetech had to pause the construction of the power plant for the past week. _Rrrr_—_I am_. _But_ _maybeeeeiiizzzzrt_—_pick up_—_mmmrrr_—_signal orrrrsssssmmm_—

He was more than positive now that it was his partner’s voice. The yellow shipping container stood before him, a small lock holding the door to it closed. Dick’s eyes narrowed. A combination lock. Hardly standard issue for a construction site.

Nightwing didn’t waste time with combination. A quick whip of his arm resulted in a sharp  _ clank!  _ As his escrima stick bludgeoned the lock, sending it to the ground. He grunted as he pulled the door open, wincing slightly at the loud creaking of rusty metal.

_ Nnnnrrrr _ — _ idea how long I’vvvvrrrrww _ —Dick carefully stepped into the container, squinting in the darkness.  _ Clunk, clunk, clunk, clank. _ He looked down at his feet, and willed the sunlight that filtered in through the open door to stretch just enough so that he could see another padlock on the metal floor of the container. He took another quick swipe with his escrima stick, sending the lock hurtling into the side of the container with a  _ PING _ that echoed lightly around the walls. 

Dick squatted to the ground, gripping the small handle tightly and then driving his heels into the ground, feeling the sheet of metal give way and flip upward, revealing a staircase underneath it. Nightwing flipped his night vision filter on, descending into the darkness. He quickly paused, realizing the static in his ear had stopped completely. 

Then, a familiar voice reverberated from his earpiece, more clearly this time. “Uh, hello.” 

“Kite! I’m here! Do you read me?” Dick quickened his pace and spoke in an urgent whisper, but received no response from Hank. 

“Not sure if anyone can hear this, but, uh, well, I figure I might as well try.” Dick reached the end of the staircase, noticing small, burry green circles in a straight line above him. He glanced to his right, then his left, and found a green rectangle.  _ Lightswitch. _ “I have no idea where I am, because I’m trapped in a white room without any windows. Chained to a wall.” 

Dick’s fingers pinched the switch, and he cycled his mask back to non-enhanced vision before gently pulling downward, and watching the lights above him flicker to life. A smooth, white concrete corridor was lit by four lights on the ceiling. “So, yeah. No clue where I am. But maybe someone can pick up this signal, or something?” Hank sighed. “I have no idea how long I’ve been here. I’m worried that this mask will start talking back to me.”

The ceiling must have been seven feet high, and the hallway was barely wide enough for two people. At the end of the hall, a green steel door beckoned to Dick. He rushed toward it, throwing it open and immediately thinking he should have been more careful, but he found himself in another empty room. 

Just like all the other safehouses, a small bed lay in the corner, next to a package of water bottles and a desk with a laptop sitting on it. “If anyone can hear this, please call the police, and then tell the police to call Nightwi—”

_ “Country roooads… take me hoooome…”  _ A quiet voice distracted Dick from Hank’s voice. He whipped his head around the room, and realized the laptop was accompanied on the desk by a small two-way radio. “ _ ...where I belooonng…”  _ When singing, it sounded different, but it  _ had  _ to be Hank’s voice.

Dick glanced around the room again, and blending into the white concrete wall was a rectangular outline, and a small silver doorknob. His hand flew to the door, ripping it open, and he was filled with a wave of joy and relief. 

In the corner of a stark white room, Hank Duncan had snapped into a sitting position on a cot, his Kite mask clutched in his hand as though he might hurl it at Nightwing.

Dick stepped forward, a grin spreading wide across his face, as he raised his hands into the air. “Hey now. Put the mask down, brother. Nobody needs to get hurt.” Hank’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly the mask was spinning through the air, until Dick snatched it with a gloved hand. “What did I just say?!” 

Then, he and his protege were both laughing. He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Hank. “Oof, hey, be gentle. I got shot yesterday, I think.” Dick gripped Hank’s shoulders, and looked into his partner's green eyes, which were shining with tears. A coughing noise came from Hank’s throat. 

“It’s good to see you buddy.” Dick beamed. Hank made another coughing noise. 

“Same. Do you mind unchaining me?” His partner sounded so tired. Dick momentarily flared with rage.  _ He should have been in a damn hospital. Not here. _

“Alright stay right there.” Dick stepped back and observed the chains attached to Hank’s ankles, just below the dusty blue pants he’d been wearing for probably 18 hours. The dress shoes from the night before were gone, and his feet were bare. 

A small slot was visible in each metal cuff.  _ Keyholes. But I doubt the keys are here. _ Dick whipped his lockpick tool out of his belt and went to work, glancing back to his partner’s face for a moment. “What happened?” 

“Uh… It’s kinda fuzzy.” Hank made a face. “ _ Jesus. Liz. _ Is she—”

“She’s alright. In the hospital. Where you’re going right now.” Dick continued jiggling the tool around in the left cuff. Hank leaned his head back and exhaled.

“Thank god. Well. I woke up here. Felt like garbage. Drank some water. Yelled at my parents. They left, and I tried not to go crazy for… however long. They gave me some PB&J’s. Uh…” Hank’s tone had quieted, and Dick’s eyes snapped up to his again. His partner took a shaky breath, pressing his fists into his eyes. 

“Hey. You’re alright, kid. I’m here.” Hank nodded, and Dick resumed his lockpick work. With a click, Hank’s left ankle was free. Dick moved to the right cuff. “When was the last time you saw them?” 

Hank shook his head. “I dunno. The mask’s messed up. HUD wasn’t working properly. I tried to record a message to play over one of our channels, but—”

“That’s how I found you. You did great, man—” Dick’s head snapped up, putting a finger to his lips. He could have been imagining, but he thought he heard footsteps on metal, and soft murmuring voices. He resumed his lockpicking with more urgency. The right cuff snapped open. “Let’s go. You good?” 

He looked to his partner, who nodded, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up, only to immediately stumble. Dick caught him quickly. “Oh. Oh boy. Stood up too fast.” Hank’s hand gripped Dick’s shoulder, stabilizing himself. “Okay.” Dick nodded, handing Hank his mask and leading the way out of the room. They quickly crossed the white room, entered the external safe room, and Dick pushed open the green door to breach the hallway, only to have his vision focused on the barrel of a gun.

“Don’t move.” Rodger Duncan’s voice was low and dangerous as he flicked the pistol upward. “Hands on your head. Now spread out.”

“He can barely stand,” Dick protested.

“ _ Now. _ ” Rodger had attached his other hand solidly to the pistol. Mary over his shoulder, her green eyes flashing in the light. She brandished a pistol of her own, clutched tightly in both hands but pointed toward the ground. Dick felt Hank’s weight leave his shoulder, using his eyes to watch his partner lean against the concrete wall. 

Nightwing’s chest burned with rage. “It’s over. You’re both going to prison. This place will be surrounded in seconds.” Rodger’s mouth quirked in response. He shared a quick look with Mary, who shook her head.

“You’re lying.” 

“We know about the potassium hydroxide you stole from Ener-Mag. Not to mention all of last night.” Nightwing kept his tone firm.

“Who do I talk to about taking the stand? Personally I can’t wait to testify.” Hank’s sneer caught Rodger’s attention. 

“You’d try to put us in jail? Your only family?” The sandy haired man snapped, his eyes fierce. Hank let out a sharp laugh.

“ _ Really? _ ” Hank had stopped leaning against the wall, taking a small step forward. Dick’s eyes flitted between Hank, Mary, Rodger, and a small shadow at the end of the hallway. “How could you  _ possibly _ think that we’re family? You’re pointing a gun at me right now.” Hank stepped in front of Dick, dropping his hands. 

“_Move._ _I will shoot you._” Rodger pointed the barrel directly at Hank’s forehead. Only a few feet separated. _“_The bullet might even hit him, too.” 

“Go ahead and shoot. Maybe this time you’ll actually take responsibility for your son being shot.” Kite laughed again, but only cold bitterness emanated from his words.

“Hank.” Dick cautioned. Rodger’s eyes had become even wilder. Behind him, Mary’s had widened in terror. Behind her, the shadow closed in, silently gliding through the hall.  _ Does Hank see her? _

Dick could see Hank’s right knee was shuddering, wiggling back and forth. It was taking a lot of energy for him to stand up. “Henry, please move.” Mary’s voice was small.

“No thanks, Mary. This one’s on your husband. What do you think, Rodger? How are you gonna rationalize this one? Am I  _ forcing  _ you to pull that trigger?” Before Rodger could respond, Mary cried out from behind him. She’d been tackled by a figure in a green hood.  _ Aubrey. _

Dick knew it had to be her. There was no way she would have given up her search. He doubted that she even bothered to communicate with her other hooded friends. Nightwing, started to move forward, grasping his escrima sticks.

“ _ NO!”  _ Hank’s voice echoed through the hallway, but didn’t stop the sickening  _ POP  _ from exploding out of Rodger’s pistol. A muffled cry sounded from Aubrey’s hood. Rodger was already running away down the hall. Hank and Dick both darted over to the two women on the ground.

Mary’s eyes were closed, sprawled out peacefully. A small needle stuck out of the side of her neck. Aubrey lay next to her, clutching her left leg and taking heavy, ragged breaths. “Aubrey.” Hank dropped clumsily to the floor, his eyes widening at the blood pouring from his friend’s leg.

Dick inspected it quickly. “It looks like a clean wound. Keep pressure on it and call for help. I need to—”

“Go!” Hank was already motioning him. Dick nodded his head down and sprinted toward the light at the end of the tunnel. The bottom half of the sky had already compromised into an orange hue, the beginning of the sunset over the diverse Bludhaven skyline. As Nightwing emerged from the storage container, his eyes found a cloud of dust kicked up from the ground of the construction site, no doubt caused by Rodger’s escape attempt. 

_ My bike. _ Dick’s stomach flipped, knowing that if Rodger took his motorcycle, he was as good as a free man. But the bike still leaned against its kickstand on the curb next to the site. A sandy-colored head was visible above a line of Bludhaven evening traffic.

Nightwing sprung after the fleeing man. He vaulted over a taxi that had briefly reached a stop at the traffic light, then weaved around a cherry red sports car and a fellow motorcyclist. “Get him, Nightwing!”

The encouragement would usually have made him smile, but there was too much at stake not to put all his focus on catching Rodger. Dick barely caught a glimpse of the blonde man turning into an alley, just before reaching the complex of condos that Dick had searched earlier.

There was no sign of Rodger in the alley, so he kept sprinting, pushing his muscles to the brink. He emerged into a lot behind the complex, and somehow Rodger had vanished into thin air. A  _ thud _ echoed to Dick’s left, and his head snapped toward the sound: a backdoor to the complex. 

Nightwing raced to the door, lowering his shoulder to force it open. It ended up being unlocked, causing him to stumble, before he caught himself on the railing of the two flights of stairs that lay before him. His gut told him  _ down _ was the correct choice, so he leapt down the stairs and turned down a hallway. 

Dick remembered the surprisingly large basement from his previous inspection, it’s walls lined with laundry machines, but the odd chemical smell that assaulted his nostrils was new to him. Nightwing’s gaze fell to Rodger, across the basement, standing next to another staircase. The blonde man held a matchbox in his hand. Dick’s eyes darted around the room, searching for the source of the chemical smell. 

“It’s at your feet.” Rodger said simply, and lit the match, tossing it a few feet in front of him. Instinct and muscle memory took over, propelling Dick back toward the stairs before the basement erupted into an inferno. 

Despite his quick reaction, Nightwing was still caught by a shockwave, thrown onto his back into the flight of stairs. Were it not for his armor, he may well have been severely injured. Flames crackled around him, smoke and blistering heat stinging his lungs, and he heard the groaning and creaking of the laundry machines reacting to the heat.

He pushed himself up, glaring across the blaze. “What is wrong with you?!” Dick screamed at Rodger, who leaned against a washing machine, breathing hard. 

“This building was made for bored rich people who want to live by the ocean.” Rodger explained. Dick tried to weave his way through the flames, but smoke and the growing blaze slowed him down. “These laundry machines machines, and the furnace, will all combust thanks to the heat. It should damage the foundation of the building enough to bring it down.”

Dick realized Rodger was bleeding. He was surrounded by a circle of flames. Whatever chemical he’d spilled on the floor—had he done that on purpose? A high pitched whistle sounded from the washer he leaned on. “Maybe they’ll rebuild it, or maybe someone else will build something here. An expansion for the Wayne Plant or something. Either way, it will be another job for construction workers. Months of secure work so they can feed their families.”

“What if someone’s in the building, Rodger? You could have put people in danger.” Dick’s mind raced as he tried to figure out a way to get the man out of the ring of fire. Rodger just shook his head, raising his voice to be heard over the growing whistling and creaking of the washing machine.

“No one’s here but you and me, Nightwing. I made sure of it.” His voice sounded wistful. Another loud groan sounded, this time coming from above. Dick looked upward, focusing on a large air vent, which shuddered and sputtered, white hot from the heat. 

He could see it before it happened. “NO!” His voice was drowned out as the vent fell down, crushing Rodger beneath it. The vent provided more fuel for the flames, and they threatened to engulf Nightwing, as well, before he turned back to cross the room and escape up the stairwell. 

A series of explosions rang out from the building’s foundation, and Nightwing kept sprinting away, glancing back only to confirm his fears, as the complex crumbled, each floor falling in on the one before it. Dick crossed the street, his ears deafened by the crumbling building. He raced through the construction site, finding the yellow storage container and yanking the door closed behind him. 

A loud shudder vibrated through the ground below him, and he heard the  _ whoosh _ of a dust cloud blooming from ground zero. Dick closed his eyes and slumped to the floor, ripping his mask off of his face. 


	28. Epilogue

** _One Month Later_ **

“You really don’t have to bring us lunch every Monday, Mr. Grayson.” 

“Marcus, first, you  _ have _ to start calling me Dick. Second, if you’re gonna keep saying the same thing every week, then I will, too.” Dick said, handing the man the large box of burritos with a smile. “I know, but you guys deserve it.” 

“Well, thank you, Dick. The guys all really appreciate it.” Marcus took the box in one hand, shaking Dick’s hand with the other. Marcus and his wife Dana had just moved in down the street from Grayson’s gym, with plans to open a brewery together. After tasting one of Dana’s microbrews, Dick had insisted on being a ground floor investor. 

Dick shot another grin Marcus’s way, then looked upward toward the other workers on top of the scaffoldings and girders, shielding his eyes from the late morning sun. 

“Keep up the good work, gentlemen! I’ll see you next Monday!” 

“Ay, you ain’t stayin’ for lunch today, Dick?” One of the workers, Charlie, called down. Charlie’s mother was in the hospital with a heart murmur. 

“Nah, Chuck. I’ve got a date!” Dick waved, sending another nod and smile toward Marcus before turning around and removing his hard hat, trading it for his motorcycle helmet. He took a moment to enjoy his surroundings. A few weeks ago, he’d seen a building collapse here, kicking up a dust cloud that took hours to disperse. 

Now, feeling the sunshine and the ocean breeze, smelling a hint of sea salt on the air, Dick almost felt like he was in paradise. He threw his leg over his bike and road down the sun-soaked Bludhaven streets.

…

“What’ll it be, boss?” Hank Duncan smirked at Dick behind the counter at the Union Coffee Shop. Dick returned the smile, but narrowed his eyes.

“Who the hell cleared you to start working?” 

“Turns out they can’t do much for cracked ribs. Who knew?” Dick folded his arms across his chest, and Hank rolled his eyes, turning around and reaching for a mug. 

“I see you wincing as you reach for that.”

“No you don’t.” With his back to Dick, Hank juggled espresso, milk, water, and a pinch of cinnamon before handing DIck a filled blue mug on a matching plate. “I invented this. It’s good, try it!”

“How much do I owe you?” Hank rolled his eyes again at Dick’s question.

“I tell you what, since my entire semester and more is paid for, we can call it even.” Dick let loose a snort and shook his head. “Mr. Wayne is already over there. Go.” Dick winked at Hank, and slapped a twenty dollar bill on the table before taking his mug and striding over to the corner table.

Bruce’s large frame was unsuccessfully hidden behind the newspaper in his hands. “Sorry I’m late. Got distracted at the construction site.” The newspaper folded backwards, revealing his mentor’s deep blue eyes, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. Then, the paper folded again, unveiling Bruce’s warm smile. 

“I’m used to it.” He took a sip from his own mug, a glossy black. Bruce’s dark blue polo and gray pants were a refreshing change from the usual designer suit. This was about as casual as Bruce Wayne would get in public. “That young man behind the counter makes some damn good coffee.”

“Better than Alfred?” Dick smiled into his own mug, carefully sipping the piping hot drink. Bruce’s eyes widened dramatically.

“I wouldn’t dare say such a thing.” The both chuckled lightly, transitioning to a brief moment of silence before Bruce spoke again. “Thank you for inviting me here, Dick. It’s… nice to talk to you not regarding work.”

“It is nice. Have you heard from Damian recently?” Dick inquired.

“He actually called me the other day. It was refreshing—he normally sticks to texting, with as little detail as possible.  _ Doing fine. No injuries.” _ Dick raised his brows, then put a finger to his chin, thoughtfully.

“All business, huh? Where could he possibly have acquired such a trait?” 

“To be fair, he was pretty much like that from the beginning.” Bruce’s smile overrode any defensiveness in his words. Dick chuckled in agreement. “I take it the construction project is going well?”

  
“The Thomas and Martha Wayne affordable housing project is ahead of schedule, and under budget.” Dick grinned with pride, then quickly narrowed his eyes. “Which means we need to find a way to spend more. I want no expense to be spared.”

“We’ll get with Lucius as soon as possible.” Bruce’s encouraging nod gave Dick a warm feeling in his chest. After the collapse of the expensive condo complex, Dick recommended that Waynetech buy the plot of land and rebuild a more affordable housing option near the soon to be finished Wayne Energy Plant. “You know, you could still attach your own name to the project, if you wanted. It was  _ your  _ idea.”

Dick shook his head with a small smile. “I appreciate that, Bruce, but it’s really not about me.” 

“You’ve made that very clear. And I’m very proud of you for that, Dick. Just remember, you don’t  _ always _ have to be such a shining example of selflessness.” Bruce’s face had grown serious, but his eyes were bright. Dick nodded, flashing a grin toward his father.

“Well in that case,  _ I’m _ picking where we eat. And it’s on you.” 

* * *

_ You might’ve heard I run with a dangerous crowd _ — _ we ain’t too pretty, we ain’t too proud _ —

“You must be feeling a lot better, since you’re singing again.” Jan Granger’s finger prodded Hank’s shoulder gently, and he laughed, partly embarrassed. 

“I, uh, thought I was just singing in my head.” He chuckled. Jan smiled, the smile that could heal almost any sadness or anger. 

“Well it was lovely, as always.” She laughed gently and Hank resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Jan was far too kind to give trustworthy criticism of his vocal abilities. He resumed washing dishes. He felt Jan’s eyes on him, and turned to her, raising a questioning eyebrow. She smiled. “I just want to make sure you aren’t still in pain.”

Hank’s own smile faltered for a moment, corrupted by guilt. The cover story didn’t make him feel bad, but he hated to see Jan and Scott so worried about him. “The doctor says I’m good to go, Jan. I think it’s normal for me to be a little sore after two cracked ribs and some head trauma.”

Jan’s expression shifted to deep contemplation, her pale green eyes searching Hank’s deep green ones. She finally smiled again and pulled him into a tight hug. “Ow!” Hank jokingly cried. A complete lie. The hug gave him the direct opposite of pain. After meeting his biological parents, he’d found a new sense of comfort in Scott and Jan. 

“You know, Henry, Scott and I were talking, and…” Jan turned her back to him, fishing through her bag for a moment. When she spun around, a small stack of paper was in her hands. “Well, I don’t want to make you feel any pressure. This is only an option if you  _ want  _ to pursue it. But since the wedding will be coming up soon, and Scott is technically your legal guardian, I wondered… I wondered if you’d be interested in adding me to that list.”

Without a trace of snarkiness or irony, a genuine smile forced its way onto Hank’s face. “You mean, legally make you my mom?” Usually he recoiled from any warm fuzzy feelings he experienced, but this time he embraced them. He pulled her into a tight hug of his own. “I would like that very much.”

* * *

Lane Vonn woke with such a start, he nearly threw himself from his chair. A firm hand gripped his shoulder, pushing him and the chair back gently until he was stable. Though ‘stable’ was not a great descriptor, since the chair wobbled whenever Lane shifted his weight. He instinctively tried to stand, but tight ropes dug into his torso, binding in place. Lane’s eyes shot wildly around him, taking in his setting. 

He quickly realized that this was not the penthouse he had gone to sleep in. Two torches burned on either side of him, illuminating the uneven stone floor the wooden chair sat on. Just in front of Lane, a hulking figure stood, completely hairless, his pale skin lit by the torches. A damp, musty smell permeated his senses. Beyond the torchlight, his surroundings were pitch black. 

“Where the hell am I?” He barked at the large pale man. He was the head of the Vonn Family, and had been for almost thirty years. He wasn’t afraid of some body-builder-type. 

“This cave doesn’t have an official name, but some locals refer to it as Devil’s Cave.” The voice surprised Lane, as it echoed from behind him, and not from the pale body-builder. “An old story told in the nearby town is that a man with a thirst for exploration wandered into this cave, and returned unable to speak. His mental faculties were completely destroyed.”

Another grasp found Lane’s shoulder, and he resisted the urge to jump. The voice continued, breathy and low, like smoke. At the time, rumors of the Jersey Devil had only just begun being whispered throughout New Jersey, and the town figured the Devil must have driven the man mad.”

The grip on his shoulder released, and a man’s figure strode into Lane’s view. This man was far leaner than the giant that now stood behind him. Some sort of tribal-style face paint partially obscured the man’s countenance. 

Orange, red and black stripes cut across his sharp cheekbones. His outfit was a bizarre mismash of pelts and furs, and a long metal chain was wrapped around his neck many times. “Mr. Vonn, I apologize for bringing you here on short notice, but the matter is just too urgent.” 

“Who are you? What’s going on?” The man smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth.

“Well, I used to have a different name, but recently I’ve decided to go by the name of Apex. And as for what’s going on… Well, I’m here to make a purchase from you. Your business record is truly something to be proud of. It’s impressive, the way the Vonn Family has ruthlessly climbed to the top of organized crime in Bludhaven, especially when a phenomenal specimen such as Nightwing has tried to slow you down.”

“Alright, listen, you freak. I’m not sellin’ you nothin’. And if you know my business record, you must know that this ain’t gonna end well for you, kidnappin’ me.” Lane was filled with anxiety, but he couldn’t let any weakness show. Apex sighed, and ran a hand through his long dark hair. 

“Hmm. I was prepared to make a generous offer, are you sure you don’t want to hear it?” Lane spat on the ground at Apex, who responded with a dangerous narrowing of his eyes.

“You know, Lane, humans, like dogs, are pack animals. We’re smart enough to know that there are safety in numbers, which is why records of human tribes date back virtually as early as humanity itself.” The torch on Lane’s right suddenly went, with a soft _whoosh. _“I had hoped that you and I could form a tribe of our own, in Bludhaven. I suppose, I will have to grow my tribe through another method.” 

The large pale man stepped backward into the shadows, followed by Apex. Lane started to call after them, shaking back and forth in his chair, but the other torch was suddenly extinguished in a whisper, leaving Lane in complete and total darkness.

“In the past, when two tribes couldn’t reach an agreement peacefully, they would go to war, and the victors would absorb the losers.” Apex’s echoed softly all around Lane, though he couldn’t see the cave walls on which the sound bounced. “As I said earlier, Lane, this is purely a business matter. For my own business goals, my pack will have to grow in number.”

A low growling sound rumbled somewhere behind Lane. He still saw nothing in the dark, until two tiny white circles drifted slowly into his vision, moving from left to right. The growling increased in volume, but Apex’s voice could still be heard. “A lone wolf is still a powerful creature, but wolves sit atop their ecosystem because of their teamwork.” 

Another pair of white dots appeared in front of Lane, followed by two more pairs, one after another. The growling had doubled in volume again. Lane couldn’t see, but knew he was being circled. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, praying that if he didn’t make a noise, he’d be left alone.

“Did you know a pack of only five wolves can bring down a bison? Incredible creatures. I believe there are four in there with you. I wonder how you’ll fare, Lane.” The growling stopped. Lane opened his eyes. Apex’s voice was gone. The growling was gone. He was in silence. His lungs screamed at him to take a breath. 

Just as he opened his mouth, the growling returned, this time right next to his ear. Lane could feel the hot, wet breath directly on the soft flesh of his throat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you somehow managed to get this far. I am already working on the third arc/book in this series (as you may be able to tell, since that ending was obviously some foreshadowing), and I’m quite excited about it. My goal is to focus more on Dick’s character development, and find more of a balance of ‘screen time’, because I think I tend to feature my OC’s too much. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for reading. I'd probably do this even if I had no readers, because I need the creative outlet, but it's always nice to know that someone is enjoying a story you wrote.


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